Snow Falls
by Lady Sikerra
Summary: Inspired by the wonderful tale Lolita. Rating may change...maybe.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own Snow.

A/N: I cannot describe in words the genius that was the late Vladimir Nabokov.

Snow Falls

Prologue

No one ever seemed to know her real name. Everyone assumed it was "Winter" or something of the like, from which her nickname was derived. Everyone always called her "Snow," which was, by many accounts, extremely fitting. She was a particularly pale girl, and it was even speculated at some point that she had that rare allergy to the sun known as photo sensitivity. But once that was disproved, they all assumed she simply disliked the outdoors.

She also wore a lot of black, which only made her appear more pale; but to Willy Wonka, it made her look all the more beautiful. Her bright, icy blue eyes were constantly outlined with thick black eyeshadow, so that they stood out greatly from the rest of her deceptively cherubic face. Upon her thin and frail wrists, there always dangled a number of silver bracelets, inlaid here and there with ruby red gems. Her nails and lips were often painted black, but sometimes she liked to coat her rosebud mouth with a layer of crimson instead.

Upon first impression, no one would think that the well-mannered and cheerful Charlie Bucket shared a single chromosome with the vulgar and antisocial Snow Carmichael. But they did, and they were only a year apart. Snow, as of the second day of the month of October, was fourteen. This was the age at which she traveled to the chocolate factory (upon, oddly enough, her mother's orders) where her cousin and family presided, and fell into a hopeless and doomed love with Willy Wonka, a man at least a quarter of a century her senior.

It had been a particularly warm day in late May when both of the teenagers had received news that their paths were to cross soon enough. Snow's mother, the plump, pampered, and prissy wife of an astute businessman barged without announcement into her daughter's room, and, with her eyes closed, said, in a sing-song tune, "Guess who's going away for the summer?"

Snow, nonplussed, had continued to study photos of a centuries-old castle in Toronto, and responded, "Oh, are you finally gonna ditch Dad and elope with that boy...what was his name? Carlito?" Before her mother had had the chance to open her mouth, she'd continued, "And of course you're gonna tell Dad that you were nursing some affliction that you thought up at three in the morning while you were stumbling back from some bar or other where Carlito was undoubtedly hitting on a much, younger, prettier Latin whore, to quote my eminent mother?"

Angrily, Mrs. Carmichael had tossed an envelope down on the floor and huffed out of the room. Snow, smirking to herself, had set the magazine aside and crawled across the floor to the envelope. She had ripped it open and read the letter inside.

At the same time, many miles away, Charlie Bucket had been about to dash out the door and join his mentor/employer for a busy day of testing candy recipes when his mother had called, "Charlie!"

He had paused and said, "Yes, mum?"

"Your cousin Snow is coming to visit in about a week," his mother had told him.

He had smiled widely. He remembered Snow. They had met once, some great many years ago. She had not been an unpleasant child, nor spoiled at all, despite her generous lifestyle. In fact, she had hated, even at such a young age, all the attention her parents had given her, and she had been mightily glad when she and Charlie had been left to explore the mansion on their own.

"Is Aunt Harriet your sister or Dad's?" he had absently asked.

"Mine!" his father's voice had called.

"All right," the boy had said, more to himself than anyone else. Then he had added, "I've got to go now!"

And thus was set in motion the way fate saw fit to tangle some hearts and break a few more.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own only Snow.

Snow Falls

Chapter One

On the first day of June, three Buckets assembled a welcoming party for their extended family. She arrived at the gates of the factory in a shining black limo and looking thoroughly displeased with her situation. But she opened the door for herself and went around to the trunk, grabbing her bags on her own. As the giant gates lurched open, she tossed the final of three bags onto the ground and shut the trunk, patting the limo's rump as it pulled away. Then she turned to face the Buckets.

Her cyan eyes were outlined with a layer of thick ebony eyeshadow that ended in a little Egyptian flourish. Her lips were painted a shade of deep plum, with a little strip of black down the very center of her full bottom lip. There was a simple silver ring protruding from her left eyebrow. Her nails were painted raven. She wore a t-shirt of the same hue that said _Black Alchemy Phoenix Lab_. Covering her slender legs was a layered, three-quarter length ebony skirt. Underneath that was a pair of matching thigh-highs, and covering her feet were a pair of kick ass black boots.

Sara Bucket was the first to approach, soaking in the girl's odd appearance. "Hello, Snow," she said softly. "Do you remember me? I'm your Aunt Sara."

A small, shy smile slowly crept across Snow's dark lips and she said, "Yeah, I remember Aunt Sara, curly-haired Aunt Sara. How I envy your tresses."

Mrs. Bucket grinned as the girl embraced her, silver bracelets jingling upon her thin wrists. "You've grown so much," she said into her raven locks tinted at the very ends with violet.

Smiling from her aunt's grasp, Snow said, "So has Charlie." Sara Bucket smiled and released her niece, who trotted up to Charlie and gave him a kiss on each cheek. "It's how the French do it," she explained, grinning. "So, how's my favorite baby cousin?"

"I'm doing all right," Charlie said, and he couldn't help but grin as well. "How about you?"

Snow shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I have a very strong suspicion that my mom's having an affair with this senior at my school who comes by on Wednesdays to mow our lawn for a few bucks. My dad is about on the edge of a nervous breakdown, I'm beginning to think. And I miss my cat, Lolita." She pouted when she finished this last sentence, but such a playful light sparkled in her cerulean eyes that her uncle could not help but laugh. "Oh, Uncle Greg," she said.

"Hi, Snow," he said, chuckling and giving her a hug. "My, you _have_ grown."

Snow let out a little laugh and said, "Everyone's been telling me that. But I feel so short. But I guess it's 'cause most of my friends are ginormous. Wish I'd inherited that tall gene like Charlie."

"You'll grow into it," her uncle told her, giving her a familial pat on the back.

She clasped her gloved, bejeweled hands together and gave a small bow of thanks. Then she turned to her cousin and said, "So, where in the hell is the infamous Willy Wonka about which I've heard oh so little?"

"Well," Charlie said, suddenly nervous, "he would have liked to come meet you today, but he's been busy the entire morning, creating new candies and such."

Snow's smile fell in such a small way that it wasn't noticed at all. But she said, "That's all right. I understand. Creating new things is one of the most exhilarating feelings in existence."

"And how, may I ask, would such a young lady know that?" Mr. Bucket inquired good-naturedly.

"Would you like some help with your bags?" his wife asked their niece.

"Oh, thank you," Snow answered. She handed a bag to Charlie and two to her uncle, leaving the women with nothing to carry as they trudged through the giant gates. They locked arms and Snow answered, "I'm a bit of an artist, actually."

"Really?" her aunt said.

"Yeah," Snow said. "I do sketches, mostly, but sometimes I do full on black-and-white portraits, mainly only for my own enjoyment."

"Do you think you could doe one of all of us?" her aunt asked.

Snow considered it a moment, then shrugged. "Sure," she said. "Why not?" But even with the resolve of drawing the Buckets, Snow would soon find a much more fascinating subject awaiting her just inside the giant doors.

* * *

Willy Wonka made a high-pitched grunt low in his throat. Something was wrong with those gosh-darned cows. The brown bovines seemed to have dried up completely, and the only thing any of the Oompa-Loompas could manage to squeeze out of their udders was one tiny drop of chocolate milk. Something was up with his cotton candy sheep, too. They were shedding erratically, to the point where some of them would almost be completely bald by the time it was their turn to be shorn. But Willy Wonka shrugged. Summer was never a good season for his animals, never mind the fact that they weren't exposed to the natural elements anyway. 

Still, he couldn't help but be frustrated with it all. There was far too much happening today for things to go wrong. He had to get the first shipment of Everlasting Gobstoppers out, but the Gobstopper machine seemed stopped up. The Oompa-Loompas were hard at work trying to fix it, but more of them were getting hit in the head by randomly flying candy balls then Willy Wonka felt was absolutely necessary. His small workers had almost given up on it entirely, and one of them, it was rumored, had even suffered a concussion. He only hoped the poor little fellow was all right.

But putting all of that aside, he felt that there was something he'd forgotten about, something Charlie had wanted him to do, or to be there for, or something...And then it came to him. With a horrified gasp it came to him. Charlie's cousin was coming today! Charlie's cousin, who Charlie had wanted him to be there to greet! "Gosh darn it!" Willy yelled, and dropped a beaker of something before rushing into the great glass elevator.

He pressed a button, the door closed, and the elevator launched itself into the air. Willy Wonka banged his head against the wall again and again. He hated breaking promises to Charlie, and while he was not particularly keen on meeting this cousin, he _was_ keen on not getting the evil eye from his young protege. The evil eye was the _worst_.

After a moment, he was thoroughly dazed, and he very nearly fell over as his elevator landed in the middle of the chocolate room. He stumbled clumsily out of it and headed for the Bucket house, feet stepping in a dizzy criss-cross pattern. There was even a point where he spun all the way around and fell against a large, eatable mushroom. But once his sense of balance had returned to him, he smiled widely and walked confidently up to the shack nestled in the midst of his wonderland.

Inside, as Snow sat getting acquainted with the various grandparents (namely Grandpa George, who had taken an immediate interest in her out-of-the-box appearance), Charlie heard a light rapping on the door, but the rhythm was unmistakable. He smiled; it was the secret pattern he and Willy had developed some time ago, set to the tune of the song the golden ticket winners had heard outside the factory, with puppets all set ablaze. "I'll get it!" he said enthusiastically, and fled from his position next to Snow.

He pulled back the slanting door and Willy Wonka stepped into the house with an energetic, "Hello!"

"Hi, Willy!" Charlie said.

"Morning, Willy," Mrs. And Mrs. Bucket said in unison.

The grandparents nodded and smiled, but Grandma Georgina said, "Daffodils."

Willy Wonka smiled and was about to open his mouth to say something else, but he was silence by one of the most beautiful noises he had ever heard. He discovered, rather quickly, that the aforementioned noise was the noise of a young woman laughing. His violet eyes were immediately drawn to the giggling form of Snow, a girl with short raven hair tinged with violet. Her face was pale, her eyes bright, her lips dark. She was beautiful. And he was frozen.

Once her laughter had subsided, she turned to look at everyone who had fallen oddly silent. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but then it raised high up when she spotted the man in the middle of the room. He had a pale face, high cheekbones, short and perfectly-bobbed chocolate hair, bubblegum lips, and intense violet eyes. His garb was delightfully off-beat, complete with top hat, latex gloves, and candy-filled walking cane. As she looked him up and down, a small smile broke out across her lips, one which quickly died as she raised her gaze to his. He stood stock still, with his eyes boring into hers. She blinked and sat up straight, feeling oddly that she ought to.

To break the strange silence, Mrs. Bucket cleared her throat and said, "Willy, this is my niece, Snow. Snow, this is Willy Wonka."

"Hey," Snow said, swallowing.

"Hi," Willy squeaked. They blinked at one another and Willy Wonka cleared his throat. Then he said, "Well, I just wanted to stop in and say hi." Silence again. "Well, I'm...gonna go now. Bye." This last sentence seemed to be oddly directed at Snow. He dashed out of the door without another word.

Once he was gone, Snow quietly said, "Bye." Then she blushed fifty shades of crimson.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I own Snow and all her stuffage. No one else is mine, and I owe my inspiration to Vladimir Nabokov.

Snow Falls

Chapter Two

The next morning, Willy Wonka was oddly reserved, hardly the bouncing-off-the-walls candy man Charlie had grown to know and love like an almost-uncle. Rather, he was vacant and unfocused, and had to be reminded more than once to tend to his recipes lest they explode. One such occasion was a time an hour or so before lunch break, when they were testing exploding candy, that Willy Wonka absently poured in an entire container of candy gunpowder. When Charlie noticed the dangerous amount that was being added, he yelled, "Willy!"

Willy Wonka gazed at him, looking quite irate, but at least out of his previous stupor. "There's no need to snap," he said tersely. "I'm standing right next to you, you know."

But Charlie ignored his employer's words and said, "Willy, the gunpowder!"

Willy glared at him once more before returning to his work, which was near eruption. Indeed, it boiled and belched and gurgled and finally blew up in Willy's face, leaving rather dark gray splotches of the powder in its wake. Willy Wonka and his young charge coughed profusely and Charlie wafted the smoke away as Willy disposed of the formula. He sighed and began attempting to clean his face. "That's the third time today."

"_Today_?" Charlie repeated, surprised at himself. Perhaps _he_ had been the absent-minded one, not to notice such explosions.

Willy nodded. "I just don't know what's up with me today," he said, and began to peel back his freshly-applied pair of bright blue gloves.

Charlie glanced at the clock. "Maybe you just need a break," he said. "Perhaps we should have lunch early today."

Willy smiled. "Good idea."

* * *

When the pair arrived at the Buckets' humble shanty in the middle of the chocolate room, they found that Snow had dressed down, too. She wore only a plain black shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, but the bracelets continued to dangle. Her eyes were rimmed with raven, but there was no flourish to suggest unnecessary embellishment. Her lips were a deep shade of wine red, and her nails were bare. 

Everyone looked up as Willy Wonka and Charlie entered the slanted house, and all greeted both of them with enthusiastic smiles. All except Snow. She continued to stare down into her oatmeal and make interesting shapes with her spoon. "Good morning, Snow," Charlie said, grinning at his cousin.

"Morning," she mumbled, and stuffed some oatmeal into her mouth.

"When did you get up?" he asked, taking a seat next to her. "You weren't awake when I left."

"'Bout half an hour ago," she said, shrugging.

Here, conversation ceased until Grandma Josephine, who seemed to be the only grandparent that was not sleeping, said, "Goodness, Willy, what has happened to your cheeks?" Despite herself, Snow was tempted to see just what the fuck Grandma Josephine was talking about.

"Exploding candy," Mr. Wonka answered, and a small smile seemed to tickle his lips.

"Well, come here, my dear, and let me wash your face," Josephine said.

He looked suddenly nervous. "Oh, no, that's fine," he began weakly. Then he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders and said, "Charlie has smudges on his face, too." He pointed haphazardously at the boy's cheek, and ended up poking him under the eye.

"Ow," Charlie said quietly, and gently pushed Willy's hand away.

"Then both of you come over here," Grandma Josephine insisted.

Without a second thought, Charlie stood and strode to his grandmother's side. As she pulled a worn handkerchief from a pocket in her robe, Willy Wonka cast a glance at Snow. Her head had tilted ever so slightly upward, so that the dim light in the shack fell through her eyelashes and made her cyan irises sparkle ever so slightly at odd intervals. But then she must have caught him staring, for her head fell again and her marvelous eyes stared into the depths of her oatmeal.

"Now you, Willy."

Willy blinked and looked up at the old woman, who was nodding almost solemnly, but with a smile on her lips. Charlie stepped aside as Willy took his place near Grandma Josephine's side of the bed. And as she took to scrubbing his pale cheeks with the handkerchief, Snow took to studying Willy Wonka in profile.

He was an artist's dream come to life. He was a living, breathing, walking, talking masterpiece; wonderfully high cheekbones, elegant nose that echoed centuries past, eyes an odd mix of light and dark violet, thin lips, and pale flesh. But for all this beauty, he was still a man, and his looks made him seem unnaturally feminine. However, in the deep recesses of Snow's mind, this was a fact she didn't mind so much. In later days, she would come to have an odd appreciation for his appearance.

At present, however, the thought puzzled her, and she tried not to think it as she watched Grandma Josephine clean his flawless face. Instead, Snow thought of how much she would like to caress his face, even if in an indifferent, almost motherly way. And then she beat that thought down and shoved some more oatmeal into her mouth, telling herself that this "crush" was just a silly, lonely schoolgirl feeling.

Yet, in a private part of her heart, she couldn't help but feel that the glances he was sparing her were more than that of mere passing interest. But that was just a stupid feeling, too, she was certain of it. Damn her heart, damn it to hell.

"All better."

Snow looked up. Josephine had completed the cleansing process and was giving Willy a pat on the cheek. "Good as new," the old woman said, and tucked the handkerchief into the robe's pocket once more. Snow actually felt a pang of jealously, and mentally slapped herself.

But Charlie, ever the helpful soul, came to her rescue at that moment by plopping his frail frame into the chair next to her. "I suppose you won't be wanting lunch, then," he noted.

She tried to smile, she truly did, but Willy's presence affected her mood in ways she could not describe. Instead she answered, "I never eat lunch much, anyway. I usually wake up so late in the morning that my first meal of the day is brunch."

At this Charlie smiled. "Well, Willy and I came back to have lunch early because the formula we were working on kept exploding."

"Three times," Willy said, taking a seat opposite Charlie and, therefore, on the other side of Snow.

If one were to watch for the signs of nervousness and apprehension in dear Snow Carmichael, one would note immediately that she visibly stiffened as Mr. Wonka perched himself next to her. Her back straightened, her face set in an expression of stony indifference, and her hands clasped in her lap. But one did not have to be acutely observant to notice these things, for Willy Wonka (though acutely observant in his own way) and even Charlie, could see how uncomfortable she'd become. It was cause for mixed feelings within Willy Wonka, the delight that he could so easily make her feel one way or another, and the fear that he might scare her off at one point or another.

Either way, he didn't have much time to ponder it, because Charlie, after studying both persons for a silent moment, said, "Snow, would you like to come with us and see the inventing room?"

She had been about to lift another spoonful of oatmeal to her lips, and Willy Wonka (despite himself) had been watching her intently, when the spoon suddenly clattered back down into the bowl, and everyone in the room looked up. The noise, however slight it might have been, even seemed to wake Grandma Georgina, who mumbled before turning over and falling asleep again, "Purple bananas."

While this gave Snow cause to smile, and what a beautiful smile it was (in Willy Wonka's own confused opinion), it could not mask how her uneasiness had increased. So she swallowed and said, hands disappearing quickly underneath the table, "Yeah, that'd be great."

She glanced, for a very brief instant at Mr. Wonka, whose face looked a mix of mortification and glee.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I own Snow and her obscure little thoughts.

Snow Falls

Chapter Three

The inventing room was marvelous, to say the least, and Snow, quite honestly, had not expected anything less. She brought with her a drawing pad and a small array of pencils, in case something were to catch her fancy (other than, of course, the creator of this magnificent wonderland). And while her cousin and his employer set up their latest experiment, she set herself up in a rather comfortable wheeled chair and began to sketch.

She drew just about anything that caught her eye, from what she would later find out was called the Everlasting Gobstopper tank (which was doing some humorous things indeed, shooting brightly-colored spheres of candy every which way), to an Oompa-Loompa whose history was explained to her by Mr. Wonka after she gasped profusely at the little man. She also spent some time befriending said little man, and he came to sit near her as he took his break for lunch.

Together, the two of them studied Snow's sketches, and the Oompa-Loompa would make silent yet truthful suggestions as to where they needed correction. In all honesty, those corrections did not occur often. And when the Oompa-Loompa left, Snow resumed her solitary ways, happy as ever.

This was perhaps the first similarity Willy Wonka noticed between himself and Snow. They both seemed equally happy in their solitude, but were not opposed to work with one other person, as long as the other person didn't try to take over the whole project. They were each open to other people's ideas, but they were usually the creative geniuses of the operation. The chocolatier's heart practically soared at this revelation, and he didn't seem to notice when his formula unexpectedly burned a sizable hole through his second layer of gloves.

After that small, undocumented incident, Charlie sighed and called out, "Snow, would you come over here?" Willy froze.

Snow looked up, hair falling at such an angle that it almost completely covered one of her icy eyes. Her eyebrows arched in curiosity, and perhaps apprehension? "Why?" she asked after a moment.

"I need your help," Charlie said.

Tentatively, Snow set her drawing implements on the floor and pushed off of a nearby wall, sending the chair whizzing over to the small table at which her cousin and the candy man worked. She bumped up against it as she stopped and nearly knocked over a beaker full of something, causing Willy Wonka to gasp in his way and grab it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. "Sorry," she said meekly, and allowed her eyes to drift to the floor. But then she asked her cousin, "What did you want me to help you with, oh, master of candy?"

Charlie smiled and said, "I'm only the _apprentice_ of the master of candy, but what I need you to do is smack the _real_ master of candy on the head and tell him to pay attention."

Willy Wonka was not sure what bothered him more; the boy's request or how he spoke it as though the "master of candy" was not even present. But Snow took a different view, and shrugged at the request, saying, "All right." Then she got out of the chair, faced Willy Wonka, and narrowed her eyes at him a moment. She realized, with some triumphant feeling in her stomach, that his fidgeting was a sign of how uncomfortable her gaze made him. But she didn't bask in it for long, for no sooner had she realized this than her palm collided roughly with the side of his head and she yelled, "Pay attention, ya jackass!"

With a smile on her face, she watched as Willy Wonka knelt down and indignantly grabbed his hat, placing it upon his head with a scowl upon his lips. But it was only cause for her smile to widen, and Charlie did not help matters by saying, "Thanks, Snow."

"Aucun probleme," she said, and pushed off from the table.

* * *

After a time, both males present noticed with different reactions that Snow's chair was scooting ever closer to their table. For Willy Wonka, it was a mix of apprehension and delight that he felt as Snow approached; for Charlie, it was that almost smug feeling that one gets when one knows that someone is sneaking where they oughtn't, but the smug one in this case didn't really mind. He was glad Snow was showing an interest in his work. 

Not that Snow didn't find it interesting anyway, but Mr. Wonka was confusing her. Damn it, he was a strange bugger. Half the time, Snow felt that this silent little battle of wills they were fighting was dominated by him, then a quarter of the time by her, and then the final quarter was just some confusion in which no one could clearly triumph. But she found it a challenge, and that was, perhaps, her incentive to figure him out.

Then she took into consideration the fact that they'd only known one another for less than a day, and it irked her a bit that she was so intensely interested in him. She blamed it, more than once, on the fact that he was such a priceless artistic subject, and ran through his list of features again and again. But if it were merely that, should she have felt at all the pull she felt, like some magnetic force drawing her towards him? No, something was up here, something obscure yet alluring, something that she was bound and determined to find out.

At the same time, as Willy tried desperately to focus on whatever he was supposed to be doing under Charlie's watchful eye, he pondered the reasons Snow affected him the way she did. He supposed, in some deep, dark corner of himself, that he had always taken better to the company of children than adults. Perhaps it was because they believed more readily in his ideas, his crazy theories, his dreams. But children didn't seem to stay children for very long much anymore, so perhaps his insane interest in Snow was really him trying to catch one last glimpse of childhood in the outside world. It was certainly some place Charlie would never experience again.

But it wasn't as though the boy was completely blind to the two people around him. From the instant Willy Wonka had laid eyes on Snow, his whole demeanor had changed. Charlie couldn't quite name what his employer had become, but he wasn't extremely fond of it. Oh, he would tolerate it, yes, and sometimes the way Snow and Willy Wonka acted around one another was simply too precious to miss. They seemed like a couple of schoolchildren, deadlocked in some nameless argument, with Charlie as the peacemaker and authoritative figure. While they had not openly argued (and why would they, when they had only known one another such a short while?), there seemed to be something bubbling just underneath the surfaces of both of them, and Charlie knew it was up to him to make sure those bubbles did not burst.

"What's this?"

Boy and man both looked up to see girl sitting cross-legged in her mobile chair and leaning on the table for support, a small midnight blue orb between her right index finger and thumb. She gazed upon it curiously, swirling it around and around in inspection.

Charlie furrowed his brow at it, but Willy Wonka said, "It's hair gum, inspired by hair toffee."

Snow gave him a strange look and repeated, "Hair _gum_? Hair _toffee_? What the hell is all that?"

For the first time in some hours, Charlie saw a small shadow of pre-Snow Willy Wonka. He launched energetically into his enthusiastic spiel about the many wonders of hair toffee. He then went on to explain, "And hair _gum_ makes your hair the color of the gum ball."

Snow glanced at the gum ball, then at him, then at Charlie, then at Mr. Wonka again. Slowly, almost seductively, the gum ball disappeared betwixt her wine-colored lips and she began to chew. She chewed and chewed and chewed for some moments before the slightest hint of blue began to peek through the raven tresses. Slowly, the color spread out until it reached the very tips of the hairs, and her head was the color of late evening. "Did it work?" she asked after a time.

Both males nodded and Willy Wonka asked, "Wanna see?" Snow, too, gave a nod, and Mr. Wonka pulled from one of his pockets a small hand held mirror. He handed it to Snow, their fingertips brushing ever so briefly (but enough to make both of them turn slightly crimson), and the girl gazed at herself.

Her hair had indeed gone blue. The violet highlights that had previously sparkled amongst her ebony locks were no more, as the midnight blanket had covered them completely. She smiled at her reflection, then gazed up at Mr. Wonka. "I think you might be ready to mass produce this baby," she said to him. And at the time, it did indeed appear that way. But later, Snow would discover that the hair on her head was not the only hair that had turned blue. The hair on her arms and legs, and even her dark pubic hair, had all turned blue. She just didn't know it yet.

* * *

Forgive me for the whole hair gum thing. But, hey, cut me a break. It was about three in the morning when I wrote this. Anyway, the blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own Snow and no one else.

Snow Falls

Chapter Four

After spending some more time in the inventing room, all three people became thoroughly bored, even Willy Wonka, who seemed to have brightened a bit at Snow's acceptance of his creation. But no sooner had she tested the thing than she had pushed away from the table once more, and sent her cross-legged self spinning away in a flash of deep cerulean.

She would look up sometimes from her sketches, as something gurgled and spat, but not any time more. She seemed completely engrossed in whatever it was she was drawing, and it was something the artist didn't even know. It seemed some imaginary creature pulled from the deep chasms of her brain, and it was something she couldn't name.

So after a time, Willy Wonka suddenly set aside a beaker of some candy formula or other and approached her wheeled chair. He sneaked up on her and placed his hands on the chair's back. Then, without warning, he spun the chair around and grabbed the notebook from her delicate hands. Snow let out a terrified shriek, and Charlie reacted without thinking, dashing away from the table and stopping her spinning. She leaned heavily against him, groaning and clutching at her stomach and forehead.

Charlie glared at the chocolatier, but found that the eccentric candy man was staring in utter disbelief at the image on the paper. His violet eyes traced every curve the pencil had made, ran straight across every line, and then he looked up at the two children. "It's a Whangdoodle," he said, sounding shocked. In his wondrous stupor, he hardly felt the pang of jealously that surged through his form when he saw Charlie holding Snow.

"No," Snow grumbled. "No, I don't know what it is. I just imagined it."

"No, it's a Whangdoodle," Willy said, and laid the notebook on the ground with an air of finality. "I'll prove it. Don't go anywhere," he commanded, and dashed away.

As his clacking footsteps faded away, Charlie leaned his cousin against the chair, and her head lolled to the side in a most sickly manner. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"No," she said. She grimaced and placed a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes. "What the hell did he do that for?"

"I wish I could tell you," Charlie said, "but Willy Wonka's a hard one to figure out."

"Tell me about it," she said, somewhat coldly.

They sat in silence for a while, half expecting Willy to pop up out of nowhere and scare the shit out of them. But he didn't, and so Charlie said, "I really think he's quite fond of you, though."

She laughed out right. "I highly doubt that," she said, though she wasn't sure why.

But her cousin merely shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She furrowed her brow in agitation and was about to snap something back at him, but Willy chose that moment to show up out of nowhere and yell, "I've found it!" Both teenagers jumped about half a mile, and the female one opened her eyes pressed a hand to her chest to calm her breathing. There Wonka was, smiling widely and holding a book with a rather tattered cover. He held that in one hand and grabbed the back of Snow's chair with another, pushing her toward the table. She blinked and leaned into it, pressing her back against his hand, something that did not go unnoticed by Willy Wonka. A crooked grin spread across his lips as he wheeled Snow over to the table, Charlie following closely behind.

As everyone situated themselves at the table, the chocolatier blew some dust from the cover of the book and set it down. Then he flipped through some pages until he found the illustration he had been searching for. "There," he said, pointing at the picture and looking at Snow. "_That_ is a Whangdoodle." The girl leaned in to study the drawing, and the slant of her shoulders as she did was quite a pleasant thing indeed. He smiled and continued, "_That_ is also the thing you drew."

With a furrowed brow, she grabbed the book and turned around, leaning against the table. "You know what?" she said. "That _is_ the thing I drew." She looked up at Willy. "What book is this?"

"It's my travel log from Loompaland," he said, looking mightily pleased with himself.

"Kick ass." But she was no longer looking up at him. Her attention was completely taken by the book. She carefully flipped through each and every page, pausing to study the sketches and read little boxes of information here and there. Then she closed it and asked him, "Hey, do you mind if I borrow this for a little while?"

He almost freaked. This was the sort of thing he had been waiting for _all_ day. She would ask him a question, he would give her an ultimatum, she would consider it for a time and then finally give in, and he would have an excuse to whisk her away to some obscure location where hardly anyone ventured. And all of a sudden, the thought of being alone with Snow scared him, and he decided the location he'd originally had in mind might be useful to him in more ways than one.

"Sure," he said. "But on one condition."

She frowned, and it was so like a pout that he nearly giggled. "What?" she said warily, hugging the closed book to her chest in an extremely adorable little gesture.

"Well, I really don't like this book to leave my library," he said, and added, when he saw an argument form on her lips, "except for every once in a while. I'll let you study it as much as you want as long as you do it in the library. 'Kay?"

"I didn't know you had a library," Charlie said, and Willy almost glared at him for interrupting.

"Oh, it's really quite beautiful," he said, thinking somewhat of Snow and her bright eyes. "You should see it some time."

"Deal," Snow said, and held out a pale hand wrapped in a very Victorian-style, lacy, wrist-length arm warmer.

"Deal." Willy Wonka smiled and shook on it.

* * *

Willy Wonka whisked the book away to the library again, satisfied with his cunning, and came back to found not a soul in sight. The only sounds where those of the machines that whirred around him, particularly the defunct Everlasting Gobstopper tank. Arching a brow, he called out, "Hello? Hello! Charlie? Charlie!" Nothing. 

Then he crossed his arms over his chest and began tapping his boot against the floor, as if waiting for the children to appear. Very odd images danced through his mind at that moment, thinking of what they could be doing, but he took the liberty to hit himself with his cane. Charlie would never do that, not to a member of his own family, at least.

He grew impatient. "Charlie! Charlie! Snow?" he ventured, almost desperate. Where the _fudge_ were they?

Then, all of a sudden, he heard the ringing of angelic laughter, and whirled around. Charlie was running toward him, pushing Snow and her blue hair along in the chair. He grinned at them, in their child's play, and stepped out of the way as they whizzed past. But then something unexpected and weird happened: Snow reached out and grasped his cane, yelling jovially, "Yoink!" With another delighted cackle, the teenagers disappeared behind some busy machine.

He waited some time longer before they came whizzing out again, and this time he stood in front of them, holding out a violet-gloved hand to halt them. When they didn't appear to be slowing down, he almost began to worry, but Charlie slammed on the brakes at the last moment. Consequently, the sudden deceleration sent Snow tumbling forward, so that she landed on her stomach, rear end propped up, at Willy Wonka's feet.

She rolled over onto her back, giggling like a schoolgirl. It was one of many moments when Willy Wonka cocked his head and studied her, how the light fell upon her pale skin and gave it almost an pearly glow. How her whole face brightened when those lips parted and a laugh escaped them. How her modest chest heaved to accommodate the panting breath. She was enchanting, and oh, how she had enchanted the magical candy man.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I own Snow, but no one else.

Snow Falls

Chapter Five

They messed about for some time more in the inventing room, taking turns in the chair. They resolved that they would race around the length of the inventing room. Willy Wonka provided them all with a fanciful stopwatch, and each of the children had a go at pushing him around the room. Once, just as Snow had crossed the appointed finish line, breath heavy, she absently threw her arms over the back of the chair and clasped her hands together. Her arms consequently encircled Willy's general collar bone area, and he tensed up immediately. Her breath, coming in light pants, was hot on his ear. The intimacy of the situation nearly made his consciousness desert him.

"How'd we do?" Snow asked Charlie, still panting.

The boy glanced down at the stopwatch. "Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds," he reported.

"Damn!" she said, and abruptly straightened her back. Willy pouted.

"I won by two seconds," Charlie said, smiling triumphantly. "But good try."

"Yeah," she grumbled. Then she accused, "Your legs are longer, damn it!" Her attention focused on the chocolatier as she said, "Now, you, up." Willy did as he was told, tipping his hat to her gracefully, and she plopped her little body down into the seat, allowing the candy man to give her one last spin. "Now it's your turn," she said, looking up at him and grinning.

"My turn?" he said, brows arched.

"Of course," she said. "Don't think we were gonna push you around all that time for nothing." She rolled her eyes. "God knows _that_ wasn't easy."

He gave her a light smack on the top of her blue head as Charlie began explaining the course again. Then the boy's whole body tensed and he yelled, "Go!" And off the candy man and cousin sped.

* * *

"Charlie," Willy Wonka said, plopping himself down in a chair at the Bucket's kitchen table, "you did some good work today. So good, in fact, that I'm going to give you tomorrow off." 

Charlie gasped. "Really?" His employer nodded, smiling. "Thanks, Mr. Wonka! I'll be able to show Snow round the factory now!"

"Actually," Snow said, digging somewhat nervously into her mashed potatoes, "I wanted to look over Mr. Wonka's travel log some more. I was thinking of going to his library."

"We can go together," Charlie suggested, hopeful.

Willy scowled. _No_. Snow was supposed to go to his library _alone_. She was supposed to study the travel log as he watched carefully over her, just making sure she didn't wreck his book. Charlie was supposed to slack off like a normal child and leave his cootie-infested girl cousin under the supervision of his boss. Charlie could _not_ tag along and ruin that for Willy. But then the chocolatier stopped to listen to his thoughts. What had Charlie done to deserve such hostility, and so suddenly? Willy was almost disgusted with himself. Charlie was merely being a good cousin, a good child, watching out for the girl in surroundings that were new to her. He was doing nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing that warranted such harsh thoughts.

So Willy shook his head and listened for Snow's reply. It was a smile and, "All right."

"Great," Charlie said, smiling. He turned back to his mashed potatoes. "It'll be especially wonderful since I've never seen Willy's library."

"Willy," Mrs. Bucket said, "I didn't know you had a library."

"Oh, yes," said Grandpa Joe, a reminiscent light twinkling in his eyes. "It was where all of the workers would go for lunch or on their breaks." Then he chuckled and pointed a gnarled finger at Willy. "You would get so angry if any of us damaged your precious collection of stories."

He shuddered at the memory. "I lost three very important guides on the care and keeping of livestock one year."

But Snow said, "Cool." Willy gave her a confused stare. "Oh, not the whole book losing part, that sucks. But there's actually something in this place that pre-dates the great shut down?"

"But you weren't even alive when that happened," Willy said.

"No," she admitted, "but it was a big thing for years."

"Really?" he said. This was something he had not known.

"Oh, yeah. People didn't stop talking about it 'till I was three." She let out a little laugh, no less entrancing than the first note he had ever heard expelled from her lips. "You were a big deal, man," she continued. "And this golden ticket thing? People are going to be talking about it decades after you're dead."

The topic of death always made him uncomfortable, especially _his_ death. Even with his heir secured, it still made him uneasy to think that he was leaving his entire empire in the care of a thirteen-year-old. But then he had to remember that Charlie wouldn't be thirteen forever, that he would grow into a strong and capable young man. And he was already more than willing to help out. He would do well when Willy was gone, but Willy didn't want to be gone. Ever. He wanted to stay here, surrounded by people that loved him like he was family, and then the odd one out that couldn't tell up from down unless he took her dainty hand and showed them to her. But taking her hand was perhaps the thing that was preventing him from thinking straight, so maybe it would be better to be gone. Just for a little while.

Gosh darn it, she was the most confusing person he had ever come across, as well as the only one who could stare him down. Everyone else, even his seniors, could barely stand to look him in the eye, yet this pubescent little girl who stood nearly half a foot shorter than him was able to gaze into his violet eyes unflinchingly. And even make him back off when her will was strong enough. Yes, she truly was unlike any person he had ever met. And here she sat, directly across the table, shoving cooked carrots up her nose for laughs, and he was utterly dumbfounded. For once, he had no method to make someone crack, and perhaps that was why he was so drawn to her.

Yes, maybe that was it...

* * *

The next day dawned bright and early, with Snow dressed in a knee-length black skirt with a jagged hem, revealing the lacy pattern of the thigh-highs she wore underneath. On her chest was a corset-style raven tank top, and she pinned back her fine midnight blue hair (the color had still not worn off yet) with a hair clip that was an ebony rose. Her nails were painted silver and her lips were painted plum, and her wrists were decorated with the never-absent bracelets. Wearing all this, and her kick ass boots, she marched with Charlie to the elevator, which Willy Wonka seemed to have deposited in the chocolate room during the night. 

Snow was still not accustomed to the violent jerks the elevator gave, and was quite sickly-looking by the time the pair of children stumbled out into a long, white hallway. There was only one door in the hall, at the very end. It was round, like most of the other doors, but unlike the other doors, there seemed to be a window in the middle of this one. Curious, Charlie held the hand of a dizzy Snow girl and led her to the door. They peered inside the small, spherical window and gasped.

Miles upon miles of books lined the endless walls, the shelves were built in twisting patterns to confuse all bookish patrons, a mobile ladder was attached in its way to one of the very top shelves, and it reached all the way down to the floor. Its rungs were bars of peppermint candy, like a candy cane. The shelves were thin bars of chocolate, and indeed all the books seemed to be covered in a thin layer of hard candy. And it was all so vivid, so clear!

At that moment, Willy Wonka approached the awestruck children from behind, and paused to admire the girl. It was truly incredible the way her back curved as she bent over, gazing in wonder at his marvelous creation, the power of his imagination. In an instant, he had a very strong urge to go up and dance his fingers along her spine, though he couldn't place why. Instead, he merely stood, waited for their amazement to pass, before he said, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Of course, he had not been speaking so much of his library as of the body of his dear Snow.

However, as the children turned round in surprise, they seemed unable to distinguish the actual meaning of his words. "Jesus," Snow said, putting a hand on her chest to calm her pounding heart. "You scared the _shit_ out of me, man. You have _got_ to stop doing that."

But Charlie only smiled and said, "Good morning, Willy."

"Good morning, Charlie," the candy man said. He gave the girl a nod and said, "Snow."

"Yeah, hi," she said, a little impatiently, and turned back to the door, skirt billowing as she twirled. "Can we go in now?"

Willy smiled. "Of course."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I own Snow and her crazy ways.

Snow Falls

Chapter Six

And so began Snow's almost daily liaisons in Willy Wonka's private library. She burst anxiously into the room, all smiles and twinkling eyes, and demanded the location of his travel log. He grinned his unique little grin and gave a flourish of his fingers to a spiral staircase that the girl had not seen through the window. Its steps were bars of fancifully-wrapped chocolate, while the railing was a length of licorice. She let out a little laugh and ran at it, catapulting up its steps and emerging on the floor above. The candy man followed, a small grin dancing across his lips.

What awaited them on the next floor up was something that Snow gawked at for a few weeks, until she became fully accustomed to it. The second floor of the library was much more cozy, much more intimate. But there was a large glass window that filled an entire wall and looked out onto the chocolate room. On the opposite wall was a window of the same design, peering down into the inventing room. Snow furrowed her brow. She knew that the two rooms were farther apart than the length of a single room, no matter how spacious, but she was already learning to accept the fact that in Willy Wonka's wild world, nothing was as it seemed.

There were plum-colored curtains held back by elegant golden ropes at the very edges of the giant windows. In the center of the room was a small circle of comfortable crimson couches, all one, never separate. In the center of that was a bowl that stuck up right out of the floor, and it appeared to be filled with liquid chocolate. The girl noticed, with a little grin, that there were bowls of strategically-placed fruit and candy around the couch circle. The walls that were unoccupied by windows were lined with chocolate bar shelves, upon which rested plenty of books, but not half so many books as downstairs.

Willy's top hat finally poked through to the second floor, and Snow asked, "What's with the lack of bookage? There's stacks of literature miles high downstairs." She turned to fully face him. "But there's like, nothing up here."

He seemed suddenly nervous. "Well, this is my more private collection," he answered, but would say nothing more. His feet came together and he stood, cane gripped firmly in hand, surveying his room with a fatherly pride.

Satisfied with his answer, she nodded and said, "All right. Now, where's your travel log from yesterday?" So Willy proceeded to point out to her his travel log, and once she was situated in the couch circle, he disappeared downstairs again to do some research of his own.

* * *

A dusty spine, a title faded with the decades. He brushed the years aside with one sweep of his gloved hand and traced a finger over the single word that gazed up at him from the cover. And in an instant he was uncomfortable, as if the book were glaring back at him and asking, "Just _what_ are you planning to do with me? Just _what_ is going on in that freaky little head of yours?" His lip curled oddly, and he stuffed the book under his arm, if only to silence its imaginary voice. Then, placing a smile on his face once more, he turned to Charlie, who sat immersed in a collection of short stories and seemed quite content. But he looked up immediately as Willy Wonka cleared his throat and said, "I'm going up." 

Charlie nodded and said, "But before you do, could you tell me if there's a clock in here."

Willy pointed to the grandfather clock on the opposite wall that was made entirely of chocolate. "Tell me when it's time for lunch, 'kay?" he said.

"Yeah, all right," Charlie promised, and resumed his reading.

Willy smiled and proceeded up the spiral staircase, cane tapping lightly against the steps. As he emerged onto the second floor, he saw Snow with her boots kicked off and lying on her stomach, shoulders straight and book in front of her. She looked positively wonderful in that pose, and part of him wished he could scream it at her. But that would undoubtedly creep her out, and that was something he was not very keen on doing. So instead, he cleared his throat lightly to alert her of his presence. In acknowledgment, she turned her head and raised herself up slightly to get a better view. "Hey," she said simply.

"Hi," he said so quietly that his voice was almost a whisper. Without another word, he strode to the couch and perched himself on it in a most bizarre little fashion, mainly because of bizarre little seating arrangement. And he began to read.

He read for some time, and was up to the seventh chapter by the time he noticed Snow's change in position. Had she scooted closer? He furrowed his brow to be sure; yes, indeed she had. It didn't really matter to him whether she had known it or not, but it made him smile to think that the gap between them was closing. Slowly, of course, but still it was closing.

Ninth chapter, and he glanced at her. She hadn't gotten any closer, merely crossed her legs and propped the book in her lap, but that didn't mean _he_ couldn't move. So he cautiously shifted the position of his behind, scooting it ever so slightly closer to her. She didn't appear to notice the difference, which was all the better. He allowed time to pass.

Tenth chapter. She was the one to move, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning oddly into the couch. It was perhaps the first time Willy noticed just how long her legs were, and how slender. It was no wonder she could step as gracefully and carefully as a cat on the prowl, he thought. He admired it about her, that was for sure. But besides that, he could nearly touch her toes now, hidden as they were under the thin layer of black elastic cloth. So he waited.

Twelfth chapter, and she had bent her right leg, brought her heel to her opposite knee. But she had gotten closer over all. The toes of her left foot were now lightly touching his thigh, and he was tempted to scratch an unfelt itch and brush his fingers against her foot. But he didn't. He waited some more, and timed his next move carefully.

Thirteenth chapter, and the soles of her feet were pressing not uncomfortable against his thigh. Both of her legs were bent and her hand strayed absently to her calf, where she scratched at something. But her hand remained. It stayed there for a time, and he wondered if he shouldn't reach out and grab it. Maybe. No. Too risky, far too risky. There were too many things that could be more awkward than they already were if he were to hold her hand, her dainty porcelain hand. He wanted to, he really did, but too much could have gone wrong.

Fifteenth chapter. He decided he hadn't been the one to move in a while, so he decided to spice things up. He set the book aside briefly and stretched, yawning. In stretching, his hand came down slowly near his side, and brushed for just an instant against her leg. But that one instant was enough to make her muscles tighten and her gaze grow vacant, and he was frightened by the possible consequences. But she did nothing, only resumed her reading without a word spoken. He smiled and picked up his own book.

Eighteenth chapter. She was nearly next to him. Her legs were stretched out again, this time perched on the very edge of the chocolate bowl, moving in time to a private tune inside her head. And suddenly her legs swiveled away, landing neatly on the couch's cushion. Her whole body turned, and she ended up with her back to him, or rather, _against_ him. She leaned herself against his right arm, and he nearly fainted. He nearly slid out of that wonderful spot and onto the floor, during which time he would undoubtedly upset the chocolate bowl, no matter how deeply rooted into the floor it happened to be. But he was able to retain his composure. For now.

A little while later, after neither of them appeared too uncomfortable with the present situation, he dared to absently finger the fake rose in her hair, listening as it crinkled and tugged at her midnight tresses. When she did not pull away, he grew bolder and stroked her head. She still did not resist.

The moment could have lasted forever. And it would have if only Charlie had not popped up onto the second floor and informed them, without a single word of warning, "It's noon, and Mum said she wanted us all home for lunch by now. So come on."

Willy and Snow rose, each setting their books down on the couch. Snow replaced the shoes on her feet and climbed out of the circle, while Willy located his cane and followed the two children down the stairs and out of the library. Charlie would never, in the history of his existence, know how glad to see him those two people were. He would also never know how angry at him they had just become.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I own Snow, but no one else. I also cannot lay claim to the book that inspired me to write this. So hats off to the genius Vladimir Nabokov; without him, I would not be writing this tale at present.

Snow Falls

Chapter Seven

Lunch was quiet, and afterwards, Willy Wonka and Charlie departed in the great glass elevator for the inventing room, leaving Snow to her own devices. Her devices happened to be roaming the chocolate room and plucking a bit of everything off of every obscure candy plant in sight. In time, she stumbled across an Oompa-Loompa who was dozing against a large chocolate boulder. She very carefully gave him a gentle poke with a peppermint stick, and he woke with quite a start, punching her as hard as he could in the nose. She fell backwards into the grass, clutching at her face, and the little man fled in an awful fright.

Needless to say, she kept far away from everyy other Oompa-Loompa that day, even if they were going about their jobs as they should be. She went back into the house after a time and collected her sketch pad, resolving to do a landscape portrait of the chocolate room. So, armed with an array of illustration utensils, she began to create.

She became so engrossed in her project after a time that she barely noticed when the elevator landed softly not fifty yards from her; in fact, she didn't notice at all. Willy Wonka emerged from it, having recalled just a moment ago that he had left a very important scrap of paper on the Buckets' kitchen table and sincerely hoped that they had not disposed of it whilst washing the dishes. It was then that he caught sight of Snow, legs stuffed underneath the jagged skirt and back hunched over, and he arched a brow. Curiosity overtook him and he decided to investigate.

He approached her location with caution, not wanting to spook her or alert her at all to his presence. He knelt beside a low-hanging tree of bon bons and watched her, unmoving. She appeared to be sketching something, and he wished he knew what, but he supposed it didn't matter as long as he went unnoticed. She was so incredibly adorable when she made a mistake, what with the way her tongue would poke out of her mouth as she overturned her pencil and set to correcting her error. Her hand would sometimes make large, slow sweeping motions as she drew a particularly lengthy curve. And sometimes it would move in a brief jerking pattern that shook her whole body. And sometimes she would pause and scrutinize her portrait, and then sit back and sigh at her surroundings. It was on one such occasion when she did not merely sit back, but her torso lowered to meet the eatable ground beneath, and with upside-down eyes she caught Willy Wonka. "What are you doing here?" she asked, not harshly, but out of genuine curiosity.

He stiffened visibly; he never liked being caught. But Snow was just about the only one who ever had, her and her cheerful cousin. But instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Do you like to draw people?"

She shrugged, and her shoulders upset the grass beautifully. "I like to draw lots of things. What's it matter to you?" Also not unkindly, but just as a general inquiry.

"Could you draw me?"

She considered. "Yeah," she said after a time. "But I want you to give me something if I do."

His brow furrowed. A bargain? What did she want? But he did not say this. He said, "What?"

"I want keys," she said.

"To what?" What was she playing at?

"To the library, dumb ass," she said, but still not harshly. "I want to be able to go there whenever I want to, and also be able to have my privacy when I need it. Does that sound feasible?"

He thought it over. After a moment he said, "'Kay. Meet me there tonight so I can give you the key. And bring your sketchbook."

* * *

There is much evidence suggesting that Willy Wonka and Snow Carmichael did not speak to one another very much, or held conversation only in the company of those who must never be informed of the things that had passed between them. Such was the case when the aforementioned girl entered the twilit library of the aforementioned candy man, only to find little candy button lights sparkling along the shelves. The first floor was quite a sight at night, but the second floor seemed unchanged, save for the presence of Willy Wonka that brought with it a very tangible change in atmosphere. Anything the man did or said or thought in the deepest recesses of his mind somehow came back to Snow, but she didn't know how or why. She only knew that it irked her very much. 

Nearly everything about Willy Wonka irked her, and yet it all delighted her at the same time. She wasn't sure what it was about the eccentric and enigmatic chocolatier that made her feel as such, but she almost felt that they were mentally on the same wavelength, even if there were years of physical difference. This seemed to be the thing that registered conversation obsolete, this odd intellectual connection. But she couldn't say she was complaining. She rather enjoyed the spark that passed between them when their eyes met, but she couldn't say exactly what she felt when said spark surged. But, once again, she wasn't complaining. The only thing that truly bothered her was the muddled mess her brain had become in recent days, and how she could only think properly if she was in silence. In silence with him.

She emerged onto the second floor, the dim light casting small shadows on her bare legs. She was dressed only in her underwear and an over-sized t-shirt as blue as the midnight around her from Joseph Beth booksellers. Her logic behind this was carefully thought out; she was in only her nightclothes to reduce suspicion if one of her family members were to catch her out and about during the night, and that she might tell them she was merely taking a little walk around the chocolate room. Well, as it turned out, no one had caught her, but she did not regret dressing as such, if only to catch the surprised look that crossed his eyes as he spotted her. She gave a meek smile and said, "They would've stopped me if I'd have been fully dressed." He nodded an understanding, knowing that it was true. She crossed the room and sat in the couch circle. "Turn your head ninety degrees," she said, and he obeyed.

But by god, did he ever have a beautiful profile. She sat, cross-legged, and simply stared at him for a moment, wishing with all her might that she could be allowed to trace the outlines of his face with her fingers. She wanted to make a line down his nose, and caress his cheeks, and taste his lips... All right. That was a bit _too_ graphic. She damned her imagination for running away and dragging her with it. So she furrowed her brow and set to sketching, determined to look upon his features with only the scantest of interest.

However, she learned very quickly that this was a near impossible feat. He was already such a work of art that she felt a portrait of him was almost unnecessary. But, no; his image had to be preserved somehow. And she was honored that he had asked her to do it. And then a thought struck her, a terrifying, exhilarating thought. She asked, "How long have I been here?"

Her voice upset his train of thought. But he answered, "Not very long. Why?"

She was silent. "No reason." She resumed her artisan's work.

Willy Wonka knew that there had to be a reason, but he wasn't going to force her into sharing it. Instead he let her work in her way, with the large sweeps of her delicate hands and the pink tongue protruding from the mouth in times of confusion. He smiled at every little bit of beauty that exposed itself about her, if unknowingly. He felt very certain, on more than one occasion, that he might lose all of his composure and stroke her hair, which had not yet resumed its natural color.

After a time, she paused and looked up, gazing intently at him. He noticed the alteration of the pattern and asked quietly, "What?"

Without warning, she cast her sketchbook aside and scooted herself towards him. She sat on her knees and straightened her back, so that she met his gaze evenly. They held that pose for some moments, each unflinching. And finally, she raised her hand and gently ran her finger down the length of his nose. She then took both of her hands and grabbed his cheeks. She held his face a moment, breath coming faster as the seconds stretched. She then took her right thumb and passed it over his lips, causing him to shudder under the touch. Without truly thinking, he reached out to embrace her, and she pulled away. His eyes opened, and she had already reached her sketchbook. And as she clutched it tightly to her chest, she said, in a whisper, "You're beautiful."

And with those words as closure, she dashed away into the night. She did not bother to wait for her key.

* * *

I'm sorry if this whole romance thing seems a bit rushed, but you all have to remember that they've got a limited time to be together. So I kind of have to cram a whole bunch of emotive shit like this into that time. If you think my pace is tolerable, leave a review. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I own Snow. I will say no more.

Snow Falls

Chapter Eight

Snow awoke the next morning to a small note on the bed table pinned down by a key. She examined the key a moment, then read the note, which was only one or two lines explaining the key. She smiled; it was the key to the library. Quickly she set it back down on the table and jumped downstairs, greeting her family for only a very brief moment before asking, "Does anyone know where Charlie is?"

"He went to the inventing room with Willy about an hour ago," Mrs. Bucket said.

"Yes," Grandma Josephine said. "Charlie tried to wake you so that you could come along, but you would have none of it."

Snow smiled. "Well, thanks. I think I'll go join them." And she dashed upstairs to get dressed. Her outfit that day was a very Victorian one, a Polonaise-styled jacket and skirt of the deepest raven. She could say, with much glee, that it matched her hair, which had resumed its natural ebony hue over night. Her only complaint was that the blue had erased all traces of the violet highlights. But overall, she didn't mind too much. To complete the ensemble, she covered her hands with a pair of lace gloves, fastened an elegant black choker around her neck, and slung over her arm a black brocaded drawstring bag. It was that morning that she appreciated for the first time the immense number of things she could cram into her suitcase.

She then politely inquired of her sane grandmother if there was perhaps a parasol lying around. Grandma Josephine smiled and told her, "I've just the thing." Then, to her daughter, "Sara, would you get out my parasol?"

Mrs. Bucket smiled. "Oh, I remember that old thing." She knelt near the bed and pulled out a slim box. Inside the box was the parasol of which Josephine had spoken. Sara pulled it out and admired it a moment, saying, "Such a pretty thing..."

"It's an antique," Grandma Josephine told her grandniece.

"Aunt Sara's right," Snow agreed. "It's one of the nicest things I've ever seen. Where'd you get it?"

Josephine sighed. "Oh, I don't recall. I believe it was my grandmother's, and then she passed it on to me." The old woman smiled. "And we should continue that tradition. Snow, I'd like to give it to you."

Snow's eyes widened. "That's very nice of you, Grandma Josephine," she said, "but I can't possibly accept it."

"Why ever not?" the old woman asked, sounding slightly hurt.

"Because Aunt Sara wants it too badly," Snow answered, smiling up at her aunt.

Mrs. Bucket looked touched. "Oh, Snow," she said, "it's all right. If your elders give you something, you'd better accept it."

Snow smiled as her aunt passed her the fine raven parasol. She stroked the still unfurled material and said, "It would be my pleasure."

"There's a good girl," Grandpa George said. The women turned. Unbeknownst to them, he had been listening to the whole conversation. What's more, he was smiling. "Now," he said, "off with you. Go and show your cousin."

* * *

With the guidance of an Oompa-Loompa, Snow arrived in the inventing room in not time at all, and still marveled at all the passageways Willy Soyinka's chocolate contained as the little man grinned a small grin and left her side. After a moment, she looked down to thank him, but she found him nowhere in sight. So she shrugged and moved on through the vastly cavernous room, keeping an eye out for her prey. 

She found it wearing a pair of comically large white-rimmed goggles, holding a beaker of foaming green liquid up to it's nose. It placed a long, violet-gloved finger to it's chin in thought, and she smiled. She spotted the other thing she was looking for scribbling away on a clear plastic clipboard, the clip an elaborate _w_. Without a sound, she sneaked up on her prey and looped her hand through it's bent arm, grinning and saying, in the best English accent she could muster, "Might I interest you gentlemen in a little stroll round the park?"

The older gentleman gasped and spilled the beaker, which conked the younger gentleman on the head, causing the liquid inside to stain his hair green. The lady held a lace-gloved hand to her lips to hide a grin as her cousin shot out of his chair and jumped around. "What's happened?" he asked, emerald eyes frantic. "What was that?"

"Formula for hair gum, I'm guessing," Snow said.

Charlie smiled. "Snow!" He made to embrace her, but thought better of it with his freshly-dyed green hair and her nicely-made raven suit. Instead he asked, "When did you wake up?"

"Not too long ago," she said, her arm never leaving its safe place in the crook of Willy's elbow. "What have you potheads been doing while I've been asleep?"

"Working on the hair gum," Charlie answered, and his eyes drifted skyward, focusing on a stray lock of bright green hair. "I guess it works." He shared a smile with his cousin. "What're you doing here?"

"I came to offer you some lunch and a stroll around the chocolate room of wonder," she said, and cast a glance at Willy. "Both of you. How about it?"

Charlie cast a pleasantly glimmering eye on Willy Wonka, who had not made a sound since Snow had took hold of his arm. His voice, when he did speak, came out slightly crackled, and he had to clear his throat more than once to be understood by those around him. "Why not?" he said.

* * *

They all sat down to lunch some time later, and then a few of the household's members vacated the tiny shack in favor of the sweet-smelling chocolate room. Some of those members were Snow, her cousin, both of her grandfathers, her aunt, and her candy man in question. She took her encounter with this last person a bit farther, offering him a polite curtsy as he bowed. When they both rose, he gave a small smile and asked, "Would you allow me the immense pleasure of taking a stroll with you around this wonderful room?" 

She smiled and held out her gloved hand. "I would only be delighted, good sir." With each one of them grinning, they linked arms as propriety dictated and set off to explore the rolling hills and sloping valleys of candy that lay before them.

Some distance away, Sara Bucket and her father were perched together on a chocolate boulder, the woman's head leaning on the man's shoulder, watching the eccentrically dressed couple walk away. "I'm glad the two of them get along so well," the woman said. "I was afraid Willy might get jealous of Snow, since she's closer to Charlie's age and all."

"You needn't have," her father said. "Willy's a good man, but he's something different entirely from Snow. Charlie would never favor one over the other. It's just not his way."

Sara smiled. "I suppose you're right," she said. "But part of me wishes I knew what Snow and Willy thought about one another."

"Wouldn't we all?" George interjected, surfacing from nowhere. Both people on the boulder turned to greet him, and they motioned for him to join them. But he wordlessly declined and continued speaking as though the offer hadn't been made at all. "They're odd about that sort of thing."

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, furrowing her brow.

"Haven't you noticed?" George said. Both of his companions shook their heads. He scoffed and waved his hand impatiently. "You never notice anything." But he kept right on talking. "Haven't you seen how they simply don't speak when they're together in a room with plenty of people, where plenty of eyes are watching their every move?" Neither of them made a comment. "But when they're together alone-" and he waved a hand toward the bridge where the pair had last been seen- "they speak as easily as though they'd known one another their whole lives." And suddenly, Grandpa George's harsh brow furrowed heavily, menacingly. "There's something going on between them." He faced his companions and said, with a determined look on his face and an air of finality in his voice, "I'm going to follow them and find out what." He made to walk away from the father and daughter on the boulder.

But Sara Bucket rolled her eyes and stood, reaching out to stop her husband's profanely-inclined father. "Sit down, George," she said, and set his old bones gently down on the boulder. "Leave them be."

"No," George said calmly, but looked a bit outraged. "If I do that, they'll go off and do something unsafe, perhaps even illegal."

Sara rolled her eyes again and sighed in exasperated affection. "George, as much as I don't like saying this aloud, I'm willing to admit that Willy Wonka has probably done lots of things in his career that a great majority would consider _illegal_. But that doesn't mean he's going to put Snow in danger."

"What's going to stop him, then?" George, always the skeptic, asked. "The way I've heard it said, he didn't even stop to consider legalities when he invited those golden ticket brats here. Oh, no, he had them sucked up pipes and blown up into blueberries and shoved down garbage chutes and sent them by a television monitor without a thought for their safety. So I ask you again, what's to stop him from doing the same sort of thing to Snow?"

They were all silent a moment, simply because there was some validity in Grandpa George's statement. Willy Wonka had admitted that he'd had no idea if the children would return to their normal state. What's more, he hadn't seemed to care. But there was something different about Snow in this case, and they all knew it. The task now would be proving it, hence proving George wrong.

And then Joe had it. "Charlie," he said simply.

George became alert again, having drifted away a bit in the silence. "What?" he said.

Joe turned to face his daughter and his friend. "Charlie's what's stopping him," Joe said again. "Snow means too much to Charlie, and Willy knows that. And because of it, he won't hurt her."

George grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I still don't trust him," he said, "and I'm still going to follow him." He made to stand again.

But Sara lowered him back down. "No," she said. "If you go, we'll hear nothing but horrible things. Let Dad go. At least he can give us an unbiased report."

George opened his mouth to object, but Joe cut him off as he stood. "All right, I'll follow them." He flashed his friend a quick grin. "Crazy old man." And he set off to find his granddaughter and Willy Wonka.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I own Snow and no one else.

Snow Falls

Chapter Nine

"You look pretty today," Willy Wonka ventured as he traveled across the bridge with his female companion.

Snow smiled. "We don't quite match, though," she pointed out. "I'm Victorian and you're Edwardian."

"Close enough," he said, shrugging casually. "People who don't know their history won't know the difference."

"True," she agreed, nodding slightly. Then, "Oh." She halted and dislodged her arm from his for a moment. She grabbed her drawstring purse and opened it, extracting the key. She held it out to him and smiled. "Thanks," she said, and put it back in the bag. She resumed hanging off of his arm, daring this time to lean her head on it.

He smiled and said, "It was nothing."

Meanwhile, Grandpa Joe was observing the pair from a nearby patch of bushes that smelled rather odd. He couldn't pair a name with a scent, but it was making him sneeze horribly. He was afraid, too, that if he sneezed too loudly, he would most assuredly be discovered. And while he was certain that Willy would do nothing to harm Snow in anyway, he'd made a commitment to that crazy old guy, and he was going to uphold it.

Snow reached down to grab a rose made of pressed licorice. She held it to her nose and breathed in, then smiled and bit off a petal. Still chewing, she extended her hand and offered it to Willy, who took it with a grin and a bow of the head. "You're really a trip, you know that?" she said, once she'd swallowed.

All of a sudden, he tossed the rose aside and lowered the girl's parasol. She did not resist his advances, icy eyes full of curiosity and quiet puzzlement. He gazed upon her face, unadorned save for the choker around her neck, and lost himself in her beauty. Her face was very pale, but her pallor did not make her body sink into the jet black cloth. Her lips were crimson of their own accord, and as sumptuous as the candy apples that hung somewhere near. Those lips were parted slightly, and baited breath passed between them as she waited for his next move. Then gently, so gently, he raised a hand and lightly stroked her cheek for a brief moment. And then someone sneezed.

Very suddenly, they became aware of the fact that perhaps they were not the only ones in this utopia, and that perhaps someone might see them if they were so inclined. Willy stiffened and he entwined their arms, whispering, "Let's walk some more."

Grandpa Joe replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose, then looked about for Willy Wonka and Snow, but they were nowhere to be found. Blast. He'd lost them. His sneezing had undoubtedly scared them off, and now they were gone. He smiled to himself. They certainly liked to remain aloof, and they obviously wanted to be alone. But then he recalled that oddly tender moment that had passed between the two before he'd erupted in an expulsion of sweet scent from his nostrils. Now that he thought about it, it made him a tad uncomfortable. Casual acquaintances, even friends, weren't supposed to share tender moments like that. For an instant, he agreed with George, the old bugger. So he stepped out of his hiding spot and resolved to find them again, wherever they'd gone.

They'd gone to a small space under the bridge just on the edge of the chocolate river, a very cramped and uncomfortable space if one happened to be trapped there with the wrong sort of person. But neither Willy nor Snow minded being trapped there with one another, especially somewhere where they could not be seen. Snow folded up her great aunt's parasol to avoid dipping it in chocolate and bent over, ducking under the bridge while Willy kept watch. When the coast was clear, he joined her, and they squatted together in the crawlspace.

After some moments of silence, Snow dared to whisper, "What exactly are we doing here?"

He gave her an odd look. "I don't know," he whispered back.

"Why don't you know?" she demanded. "You're the one who dragged me under here. I at least deserve an explanation."

"You know why," he said. "Someone sneezed in the bushes. If they'd have seen us, we would have been done for."

She made no response to this for quite some time, and after a few minutes, he dared to look at her. Her eyes had taken on a very odd glimmer, one he could not decipher. "Willy," she asked, using his first name for the first time, "is there something officially going on between us?"

How to answer that? He began with, "Well..." but lost all command of the English language after that. He looked at her again, with her unreadable cyan eyes, but could not force the words from his lips.

"Is there?" she persisted.

Finally he answered her question with another. "Do you want there to be?"

She was taken aback. It was so direct. He obviously wasn't one to beat around the bush. But it was a question she had to consider, and consider it she did, but only briefly. She figured that if she was scrunched into a crawlspace under a bridge made of chocolate with someone, then she must have been willing to risk a lot to spend time with them. So she said, "Yes."

At her answer, his features betrayed no emotion. He merely backed out of the space and offered her a hand, which she gratefully accepted. As they both straightened and brushed themselves off, he said, "All right. Then I want you to meet me tonight in the library."

"Again?" she said.

He nodded. "And wear that dress."

* * *

During her summer spent in Willy Wonka's wonderful chocolate factory, Snow did a lot of things for a lot of reasons that she never quite figured out. She went to the library that night, not having changed out of her Victorian dress, as he'd requested, but she didn't quite know why. She also rummaged around in her suitcase before dinner and found a few of the precious CDs that went everywhere with her. She put those in her drawstring purse, to be used in the library. But she had no idea what compelled her to bring that music along, it was just a feeling. She found out that lots of things that summer were "just feelings." 

She stole away into the night under cover of her great aunt's parasol, after having borrowed her great uncle's ancient top hat to truly complete her Victorian ensemble. She walked to the library, guided by the dim light from the lantern of an Oompa-Loompa who happened to be out her time of night and was so gracious as to escort her to the vast hall of knowledge. She thanked the little man with a curtsy, to which he gave a bow (and Snow was amazed how in tune with Wonka his workers really were), and she proceeded to let herself in.

This time, there were no simple candy button lights; the faint glow of candles replaced them. Stepping farther into the room, she saw a very colorful phonograph positioned in the corner. But there was no sign of Willy. So she folded her parasol and set it by a squishy crimson armchair. She removed her hat and, holding it in her hands, called out ever so softly, "Mr. Wonka?"

He appeared out of thin air, standing before her in an instant, looking as dignified as his attire dictated. "Good evening, Ms. Carmichael," he said, and gave a bow.

She replaced the top hat only to tip it again as she curtsied. "Good evening, Mr. Wonka." She looked about her surroundings and said, "I like what you've done with the place."

"Thank you," he said. "I decorated it with you in mind." This made her blush, though both of them would be damned if they could have seen it in the dim light. Then he asked her, "Do you like to dance?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Dance?" she repeated.

"Yes. Dance."

"The Venetian Waltz?" she asked, smiling slightly. How she loved to get into character.

"If you wish it," he replied.

"Such a gentleman," she said, smiling. "Actually, though, I brought some music of my own." She extracted the CDs from her bag and held them out to her companion, who took them and examined their titles in the dark.

"Tori Amos?" he said after a moment, glancing up at her.

"Yeah," she said. "She's done some wonderful stuff." She pulled one from the small pile. "This is one of my personal favorites. My only question to you is, do you have a CD player? I love that phonograph, but these things simply won't work on it."

He nodded and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the stairs. They emerged onto the second floor, which was decorated much the same way. He sat her down in the couch circle and took the disc from her. He ran his violet-gloved hand across the wall for a moment before he made that odd little noise of his and pressed his finger into the wall. A small plate extended, and he placed the CD on it. As the disc was swallowed up into the wall, he turned back around and said, "I had that installed before Charlie arrived, just in case my heir happened to have a taste for music." He smiled.

"Oh," she said. She seemed disappointed, mildly hurt, even. "Your heir."

Obviously Charlie had told her the details of the contest, and obviously this topic of discussion bothered her, so he flourished his hand and said, "Never mind Charlie right now. What do _you_ want to do?"

She glanced at the wall that had devoured her music, and then smiled up at Willy Wonka, eyes twinkling. "I want to dance."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I own Snow, but not Wonka, nor any music of the Tori Amos type.

Snow Falls

Chapter Ten

Music crept easily into Snow's soul, and it didn't take long for the girl to get lost in the melody. That was why she was such a delight to dance with, Willy Wonka decided. She seemed to have no regard for the world around her and only moved to the beat, her body a work of art as the tune possessed her and made her twirl and hop and fall, limp, into his arms as she exhausted herself.

Her set her down gently in the couch circle, and then dimmed the lights some more. "Close your eyes," he said softly. "Just close your eyes and rest."

But she said, "No. If I do that, I'll sure as shit fall asleep."

"If you do," he promised, "I'll be sure to wake you."

"Okay," she agreed, nodding and letting out a monstrous yawn.

He smiled at her, and she was asleep in moments. He gently took her arms and folded them over her chest, and then disappeared downstairs for a minute. He returned quickly, book in hand. He flipped immediately to the fifth chapter, where he browsed the pages for an instant before finding the passage that he needed. He read it again and again, and then set the book aside and studied the sleeping Snow. Yes, her jawline was just as the book described. He examined her arm; it, too, held characteristics that were shared by those most devious of young children. He stared very intently at her, scrutinizing her dozing form, and wondered if she had any idea of what she was. _He_ certainly did, and this confirmation was not helping matters.

Her ran a finger across her jaw again, and she shuddered slightly. He drew away quite speedily, and wondered for a terrified moment if she had been awake the entire time. If she had, he would have died on the spot. But she appeared to merely be cold, and turned over on her side to warm herself. So he remained content to stroke her hair back for a time, tracing the curve of her ear with the tip of his finger. But at some point, the touches must have become too intense, or too incessant, and her eyes shot open. She said into the silence, "Stop it. That tickles horribly."

He jumped about a mile, right out of the couch circle and onto the floor. She rose instantly and joined him on the floor to make sure he was unharmed. He was flat on his back, eyes shut tight, and she sat on her knees next to him until he opened them. "Hi," he whispered, and his throat seemed mightily dry.

"Hi," she said. "What were you doing before? I felt you poking my arm and tickling my ear and a whole other bunch of crazy shit."

"I was," he began, but words deserted him. "I was," he tried again. Nope, they weren't coming back. "I was," he said once more.

"You were what?" she finally asked.

He sighed. "I don't know." She made no response to this, and he looked up at her after a time. Her eyes held that unreadable expression once again, and it was just as unnerving as the first time he'd seen it. And very suddenly, she reached out both of her lace-gloved hands and cupped his cheeks. She lowered her head and studied his face, danced her eyes over every feature it held. He dared to ask, "What are you doing?"

She responded, "I don't know." But she knew very well, for in the next moment, her lips were on his and their hearts were racing. His hands found her waist and drew her closer, and she straddled him as she devoured his mouth. Neither of them breathed for a very long moment, but then the need for air overcame them and they pulled apart. They sat still and allowed air to fill their lungs before they fully comprehended the position they were in. Snow's eyes grew wide and she was off of his stomach faster than a flash of lightning. By the time he rose to his feet, she had already found the spot in the wall and extracted her music-making disc. Without a second glance at him, she thrust the CD in her purse and left the library, grabbing her parasol as she went.

* * *

The next day, Snow did not wake until it was time for lunch, a time when Willy Wonka was chatting amicably with Grandma Georgina and didn't catch sight of his Snow until Charlie yelled her name in greeting. She blushed profusely and disappeared upstairs again, only appearing when she was fully clothed in a black dress with white strips of cloth that tied around her neck. The bodice fit her beautifully, and was designed to look like a corset. She wore the same well-used, wrist-length, fingerless gloves, and her lips were painted black. On her feet were a pair of black flip-flops with a raven-hued rose in the middle. She smiled brightly at everyone and asked, "What's for lunch?" 

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," Charlie said, smiling widely.

"Great," she said, and took a seat next to Willy with such an air of nonchalance it almost scared him.

"Did you sleep well, Snow?" Mrs. Bucket asked, setting a plate down in front of her niece.

"All right," the girl said. "Had some funky dreams, though." She picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

"Well, it's always interesting to see what our subconscious comes up with," Sara said. Then she turned to their pale-faced guest. "Would you like another sandwich, Willy?" she asked.

"Oh, no," he said, "I'm fine." Then, to Charlie he said, "Charlie, I'll think I'll go for a little walk before we get back to work, 'kay?"

"All right," the boy said. "I'll be in here if you need me."

Willy smiled and placed his hat atop his head, sparing Snow a beckoning glance as he grabbed his cane and walked out the door. She caught the candy man's meaning and not a moment later said, "Um, I'm not too hungry right now. I think I'll go on a walk, too."

She rose and was already at the door by the time her aunt noticed and said, "All right, but you should eat something before dinner."

"I will," Snow said, and grabbed the parasol that was now hers before she ventured out.

A short time later, she found Willy Wonka standing near the chocolate river, hands resting patiently on the swirling top of his candy-filled cane and eyes downcast. She cleared her throat lightly and whispered his name, and he turned his head to face her. He flashed her a small smile, which she returned with slight hesitation, and he held out his hand. She accepted it and joined him on the bank, standing next to him, but not close enough so that their arms touched. They stood in silence for a moment, and it surprised Snow greatly that Willy was the one to break it by saying her name. "About last night," he began.

But then she blurted out, "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the music, or how much I love that dress, or 'cause I was really tired, or-"

But he silenced her by hitting her lightly, playfully, on the head with his cane. She was so surprised that she closed her mouth and allowed him to turn her around, so that their equally intense eyes met. He held a long finger to her lips and shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "Don't," he whispered, "don't. There's no need."

She seemed taken aback. "There isn't?" she said.

"No," he said, then sighed. "It's my fault," he told her. "I never should have lead you on." He paused. "Was I leading you on?"

"I don't know," she said. "Did you mean to?"

"No," he said instantly.

"Oh." She looked somewhat dejected, and the conversation died a moment later.

But it was brought back to life when Willy asked, "Why?"

"Why what?" Snow said, only mildly surprised to hear his voice.

"Why did you do that last night?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It was something about the atmosphere that just made it feel...right." She fell silent.

Then he ventured, "Would you like to do it again?"

She hesitated, contemplating the best words to use to describe her feelings. But in the end, she found that only one was necessary: "Yes."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I own Snow and the funky craziness that occurs in her existence.

Snow Falls

Chapter Eleven

So Willy Wonka departed without another word, merely giving her a nod of understanding. He went back into the house only to emerge again a moment later with his apprentice beside him. They chatted amicably and didn't spare Snow a second glance as they boarded the glass elevator. Then they were gone, and Snow found herself waving her gloved hand as they zoomed out of sight.

So she was left alone, with her thoughts as her only companions, and they were not choosing to be very helpful that day. They seemed to bounce around in her head with all the energy of a herd of three-year-olds hopped up on sugar, and she couldn't calm them to save her ass. After a time, she gave up on them entirely and knelt on the chocolate river bank, smoothing her skirt as she sat on her knees.

She gazed down at her darkened, distorted reflection as the chocolate flowed. She studied her face, wondering for quite a time what Willy Wonka found so likable about her. She was pale as a ghost, but then again, so was he, and she didn't mind a bit. But she was also ill-tempered, and her mood could change in an instant. But then again, so could his. However, his mood swings seemed to be notably less violent than hers could be, but she blamed it on those damn hormones than ran amuck inside her body. And after a moment, she snorted disapprovingly at her reflection and stood, brushing herself off as she surveyed the room.

But she did not think about the little rollings hills that dotted the landscape like candy pimples; she thought about him. She thought about them. Was there a them? He had certainly implied as much, but she was still confused in the deepest cavities of herself. Whatever it was they were doing, it wasn't right, wasn't natural. People so far apart in years weren't supposed to kiss so passionately, weren't supposed to share silent moments of tenderness and intense gazes, weren't supposed to want to repeat these actions. Then again, perhaps it was never so much that they didn't _want_ to, but that society simply told them they _couldn't_.

She shook her head and turned away from the river, entwining the fingers of both hands as she walked toward the little shack, the delightful dark in the midst of the incessant color. These thoughts that swirled in her brain were much too much for her, and she couldn't think them right now. Not right now.

* * *

After a time, she sought out an Oompa-Loompa to lead her to the library, for she had not yet memorized the path. The little man was quite obliging, and she arrived at the circular door in no time at all. They made parting salutations and she proceeded to let herself in. And once among the vast array of literary trappings, she spent half an hour trying to find the book that had been on her mind since her bizarre dream last night, when Victorian London had been her dream scape and one William Wonka her fanged lover. She shook her head even as the dream came back to her, and said aloud, "I really need to watch some TV. Maybe that'll occupy my imagination so I don't dream about him as a vampire." 

But in lieu of television, she found the book she had so desperately been seeking and sat down to read its dusty pages. Most of the books in Willy's library appeared to not have been touched in years, maybe decades. And while she had no doubt that her candy man was a gentleman of the literary persuasion as well, it irked her that so many volumes had more or less gone to seed. He really didn't appear to have spent much time in here until she came along, but the library had been well-kept when she'd peeked in for the first time. Then again, maybe that was because of her, too.

Time passed, and she found herself on the fourth chapter before she knew it. At that point, she marked her place and set the book aside. Then she raised her arms to stretch, and yawned. She glanced at the grandfather clock, and found with some surprise that it was already half past five. She gathered her purse hurriedly and dashed out of the library, almost forgetting to lock the door behind her.

But despite her rush, she was late for dinner anyway, as she was detained for quite some time in an unknown hall which she did not escape from until a kindly Oompa-Loompa happened by. As the smiling little man led her toward home, she realized that she was going to have to stop depending on his kind for everything.

When she finally found her way into the Bucket house, she was immediately bombarded with questions such as "Where have you been?" or "What kept you?" She replied to all of these by telling everyone, "I got wrapped up in this book and then I lost my way a little bit." Then she turned to Willy and said, "Dude, your hallways are _super_ bright. It is _not_ cool." And without another word, she sat down next to him to sup.

Dinner that night was mashed potatoes and spaghetti drenched in cheese. Snow noticed, with a slight smile, that the chocolatier gave the mushy spuds one disgusted glance and curled his lip, shunning them shamelessly. He wasn't any kinder to his spaghetti, which he poked senselessly with his fork. He didn't eat much that night, but he did not wish to be an impolite guest, so he managed to swallow just a few bites.

And then dinner was over, and Snow found herself running to match the lengthy strides of Willy Wonka as they progressed toward the great glass elevator. They had left Charlie and the rest of the Buckets behind on the preface that Snow wanted to further herself in her book and that she would be home before darkness blanketed all. But Mrs. Bucket, with her ever watchful eye, had insisted Willy give her niece some chocolate while she was gone. "That girl has had far too little to eat of late. She'll be malnourished before the week is out."

So the pair stepped into the glass elevator, and Snow pressed herself against the wall for support. Willy Wonka pushed a button and the glass box lifted off, causing his companion to let out a groan and clutch at her stomach. "I hate this thing," she murmured, and slid slowly down to the floor. There she stayed for the remainder of the journey, eyes closed and head leaned back against the transparent wall behind her.

When they finally reached their destination, Willy held out a hand to her and pulled her up. She linked arms with him and smiled dizzily at a passing Oompa-Loompa, who gave a gracious bow to his employer and the girl. The pair then continued on to the library, which was dark this night.

They went right away to the second floor, and they right away chose some music to listen to. Snow extracted another CD from her purse; same artist, different songs. She situated herself in the couch circle as he let the wall devour the shining disk, and joined her once the tune began. For a time they simply sat side by side, listening to music and watching life in the chocolate room. They watched as Charlie strolled around, and as the grandfathers sneaked outside to converse privately, and as beloved Georgina came up behind them and squawked something, causing the old men to jump about a foot in the air. Snow smiled at this, but at the same time feared her dear Grandpa George might have a heart attack.

After a time, their hands found one another on the couch, but they merely continued to people watch. Georgina had scurried back inside, only to be replaced by her daughter-in-law, who took to whispering with the two elderly gentlemen right off the bat. Snow furrowed her brow, recalling the sneeze she and Willy had heard that day, and then comparing it to the sneeze she had heard from Grandpa Joe earlier that afternoon. Her eyes grew wide. "It was Grandpa Joe," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

But Willy must have heard her, for he whispered, "What?"

She turned to face him. "That sneeze in the bushes," she said. "It was him." She inclined her head to the large-nosed old man out the window.

The eccentric chocolatier considered it a moment, then stood and left the couch circle, walking to the window. He grasped one of the gilded ropes and gave it a tug, sending the deep plum curtain gliding across the glass. He then traversed the length of that window and pulled on the other rope, and the were shut off entirely from all activities in the chocolate room. He turned around and clapped his hands once, smiling. "Problem solved," he said. She gave a small smile. He rejoined her in the couch circle, a lightly devious grin spreading across his lips.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I own Snow and no one else.

A/N: I'm sorry that my updating has been sketchy for the last couple of days, and there are a few factors in my lax author type ways: One is that I haven't been feeling well for this entire week. Another is that I've been struck dumb with a light case of writer's block, which seems to have resolved itself as of very recently. And the third and final thing is that my word processor decided to hate me for a few days, but I downloaded something else and it's happy now. Sorry if this was long-winded, but I wanted to tell you guys the whole story. This also presents me with an opportunity to say how great you are for reviewing and wanting to read this crazy shit. Many thanks go out to you. But I'll shut up now, and let you read.

Snow Falls

Chapter Twelve

He set aside his cane and top hat, bowing his head to her like a proper gentleman. She responded with the same gesture, but he could see, even when her eyes were downcast, that her mind was no longer there. He wondered where it had wandered off to, but dared not ask for fear of upsetting the state she was had allowed herself to slip into. He noticed (and would throughout the duration of the summer) that Snow would assume various poses when she was in certain levels of thought. Right now was the pose when her icy eyes were vacant, and her lips curled ever so slightly into a half-smile that showed how an idea had popped into her pretty little head. Once again, he found himself wondering what that idea could be. But once again, he kept his mouth shut.

Many of the afternoons and evenings Willy Wonka and Snow spent together would be spent in silence, simply because words were not needed nor wanted. It was not that cold, impersonal silence that so many associated with one-night stands and meaningless trysts; nay, it was a silence of a different sort. Theirs was a silence of understanding, a silence in which words were thought rather than spoken. And it suited each of them fine.

This day was the true beginning of such silent encounters, the day when Willy Wonka dared to stroke her cheek with tenderness and affection, the day Snow dared to avert her vacant gaze and feel her cheeks redden. He smiled and spread his hand, cupping her entire cheek. He leaned in close to her, uncertain as to why, but only knowing that he desired this type of intimacy. It wasn't long before he removed his hand from her face and placed it around her waist. Its brother followed, and soon he pulled her into his lap. He placed one hand on the small of her back as she snaked an arm around his neck, giving a slight smile and leaning into his collarbone. Her fingers entwined, giving her a loose hold on him. He brought his other hand to the back of her knees and held her, much like a husband would with his young bride on their wedding day.

And then, as though the thought came to both of them at exactly the same moment, the girl's eyes opened slowly, but she did not look up. Instead, she focused her gaze straight ahead and stared at the door, which she felt sure might burst open at any moment and condemn her to a summer of lecture-filled hell. So she said, in a soft and gentle voice, "I had a dream last night."

He was surprised at her voice, but it was not unpleasant to be woken by that noise. "What about?" he asked, voice an equal whisper.

"You," she said simply.

He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head. "What happened in your dream?"

"I don't know exactly," she said. "I can't remember. I only recall that you were there, and I was there, and we were in love." She paused. "But we couldn't be together." He felt her shrug her glorious shoulders. "Rules of society and such."

He nodded. "Society does that."

"Why?"

He gave a small, mournful smile. She was just a child, after all. "Society is a funky thing," he answered. "I can't tell you anymore than that."

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because I don't know anymore than that."

"Well, what _do_ you know?"

"About what?"

"About..." But her voice was gone.

So he finished her sentence. "This?" he said softly.

He felt her nod. "It's not..." Gone again.

Right? Normal? Acceptable? Possible? There were tons upon tons of words he could spew out, but he wasn't sure which one fit. So he finally gave up and said, "What?"

"Society wouldn't like it." She opened her arms further, so that her grip now encompassed his shoulders.

He inhaled a deep breath, then inclined his head so that his lips were buried in her hair. As he exhaled, he kissed her head and said, "That's what's great about this place. Society doesn't matter." He paused, then said to himself, "You're the only thing that matters."

But she heard, and she bit back a small smile, at the same time blinking back a tear. "But why?" she asked for the third time.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied, and she felt him smile. His lips tickled.

"I asked you first."

He full on grinned. But then he stopped to think. "Because...because...because...because I...you just are." Silence. "Your turn."

"I can't say I disagree with you," she told him. "With some people, it's just a feeling." She felt him nod. They were quiet again. Her eyes closed, she snuggled deeper into him, his warmth, his safety, his scent. For a man, he smelled quite pleasant; that musky male odor mixed with the sweet smell of chocolate. She breathed him in, and her lips parted for a moment, as if to speak. But now was not the time.

And in that loving silence, that's when they heard it. It was a light rapping, one that grew more incessant as time passed. And it was indeed quite a while before they thought to break apart and investigate the source of the noise. They both immediately deduced that it was coming from the door, that someone wanted entrance to their utopia. While Snow's solution was simple (she slipped her shoes back on and grabbed a book that happened to be sitting nearby), Willy's involved a lot of fumbling about and noise-making, as if more sound would assuage the suspicions of the person on the other side of the door. But when he received an irate look from his companion, he smiled widely and answered the knocking. On the other side of the wall was Charlie, looking chipper as ever, and the boy immediately said, "Sorry to interrupt you two, but Mum's told me to tell Snow it's time for bed."

Bed? Already? Had she and her candy man really been so engrossed in their tender silence that they had not noticed the hours ticking by around them? The female cousin opened her mouth to make some completely inconspicuous response when her elder male companion nearly blew their cover by saying, "Oh, Charlie, my dear boy, you weren't interrupting a thing." That wide smile only widened, looking just a _tad_ insincere.

The boy furrowed his brow and gave his employer an odd gaze, but only said, "Well, I hate to stop Snow reading, then, but we've both got to get to bed. Come on, Snow."

Without question or comment or any objection at all, Snow set aside her book and hopped out of the couch circle, poofy skirt jumping right along with her. Willy had a private moment of slightly perverse enjoyment; the underside of a lady's skirt seemed always to be an interest to gentlemen. But he kept his mouth shut, merely giving her a forlorn and pathetic glance as she followed her cousin out. She turned her head away, but reached her arm back in hopes of holding his hand one last time. And the connection would have been made if only he had been quicker. As it turned out, their fingertips touched for but a moment before she was gone.

* * *

I know, it was short, but bear with me. Like I said, I haven't been feeling great lately and writer's block still hasn't fully gone away yet. The best I can do is hope it will soon. Until then, the blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I own Snow. That's about it.

A/N: It feels so good to write again!

Snow Falls

Chapter Thirteen

Snow slept fitfully that night, her dream scape a castle high in the mountains of some foreign land. In the little play her subconscious chose to act out, she was dressed in an eighteenth century gown and wandered the halls of some great palace, candelabra in hand. She woke some time during the night, after her dream self had stumbled upon a very odd chest that contained some very strange liquids that seemed to pour out upside down. Shortly after her return to the real world, she quietly put on her slippers and crept out of the house.

The chocolate room was quite beautiful at night, she noticed. Brightly shining candy stars twinkled above her, and she felt very safe in that sort of darkness. A smile danced across her lips and she sat down on the chocolate river bank, running her trusty flashlight over the surface. And all at once, a small patch of bubbles rose up, and she froze. Her eyes darted round for an instant, trying to find something with which to fend off the candy monster that lurked beneath the chocolate surface, but by the time she had found a suitable-sized edible branch, the thing had emerged. With some relief, she found it to be only an Oompa-Loompa. It wore snorkeling gear and waved at her, then disappeared again to do god knows what.

She must have been sitting on the bank for quite a while, for after a time, a small herd of Oompa-Loompas jogged by, all wearing matching track suits and looking positively thrilled to be awake so early. They tried to encourage her to jog with them, but only succeeded in accompanying her back to the house. So they delivered her to the doorstep and were on their way.

She finally kicked her slippers off and crawled into bed again at the crack of dawn, and barely had time to shut her eyes before Charlie woke. It already irritated her to no end how much of a morning person her cousin was, and he didn't help to change her opinion when he shook her gently awake five minutes later, saying softly, "Snow, would you like to come to work with me?"

"What if I say no?" she asked groggily, not having to put too much effort into sounding sleepy.

"Then I'll be very disappointed," he said, although he couldn't help but smile. "And I think Mr. Wonka will be, too."

At the mention of the chocolatier's name, she groaned and flailed her arm, swatting at her cousin. The boy stepped back just in time to avoid getting hit. "Fine," she said. "But if I pass out in the elevator, it's _your_ fault."

Charlie grinned. "Deal," he said, and hopped downstairs.

* * *

As fate would have it, Snow _didn't_ pass out in the elevator. Instead, she waited until she was watching her cousin and the candy man toil and slave away at some exploding thing or other in the inventing room before spontaneously collapsing on the floor. The impact resounded with a dull thud, and it was quite a few moments before either one of the males noticed anything was amiss. But when they finally came around, Willy Wonka grew panicked and ordered Snow's immediate removal to the library. She woke up some time later in the couch circle, her head throbbing. She placed a palm on her forehead and let out a soft noise of irritation, cursing her fucked up sleeping pattern. 

"Oh, good," said a voice from somewhere near. "I hoped you'd wake up soon." She knew whose voice it was, even if she couldn't find the person who'd spoken the words. In an instant, there was a body by her side and a hand reaching for her own, stroking her fingers lovingly. "How do you feel?" the voice asked.

"Like shit," she responded instantly.

"Well, open your eyes and eat this." Reluctantly, she lifted her eyelids, only to be greeted by Willy Wonka, whose normally beautiful face was rather contorted in worry. In his free hand, he held a candy bar still in its wrapping paper. "Eat," he said again, and thrust the bar into her hands. While she worked to unwrap it, he reached for her and pulled her up, taking her in his arms and stroking her hair, more to calm himself than to calm her. "What happened?" he asked.

She unwrapped the chocolate and took a small bite. "I didn't sleep well," she said, voice muffled by a mouthful of candy.

"Dreams again?" he asked. He felt her nod. "What were they about this time?"

She swallowed. "I was running through a corridor of this ginormous castle with a candelabra in my hand, and I was dressed in eighteenth century attire." She gave a slight grin. "I find that most of my dreams are historically-inclined. And I was running to something, or from something. I don't know which." She sighed. "But then I woke up at like, two in the fucking morning and couldn't get back to sleep. But I guess my sleeping pattern's always been kinda screwy, so go figure." She shrugged and took another bite of the chocolate bar.

"Well, are you all right now?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be okay," she said.

Her health assured, he kissed the top of her head and removed her from his lap, leaning her against the curve of the couch and taking in the sight of her. Today, she wore a burgundy-hued sleeveless dress with a corset-style bodice and floor-length skirt. Those same fingerless gloves still covered her hands, and wrapped around her neck was a length of black lace with one large and shining red jewel hanging from it. He smiled, wondering if she knew how positively elegant a choker was when fastened about her neck. He reached out and grasped the jewel lightly, running his thumb over it. He leaned in, as if to inspect it from a closer angle, but his true motivation was to take a peek at her cleavage. For a fourteen-year-old, she was rather far along in that area of development, and he couldn't help but be delighted by that fact.

No less than she could help but notice. A slight grin on her lips, she took a gloved hand and hit him lightly on the head, just enough to focus his attention on her face. And to knock his top hat onto the floor. "Hey," he said, looking up at her with an irritated yet affectionate glimmer in his eye, and he broke what little physical contact they had to stoop and retrieve his prized accessory. When he came back up, he found her gaze settled squarely on his, and they simply sat for a moment, neither one daring to blink.

After a time, chest heaving with words unspoken, Snow reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. She then removed his top hat, for better accessibility, and leaned into him, pressing her lips against his. He blinked. It was surprising, the rapid nature of her movement, but not unpleasant or unwanted. He reciprocated the gesture, wrapping both hands around her neck and pulling her into him, settling her in his lap as she had been not too long ago. In time, his hands moved to her waist, as hers did to his chest, so that the only thing separating their torsos were her pale arms. The appendages did _not_, however, decrease the intensity of the kiss. They did not stop lips from parting wider, nor tongues from hesitantly tasting mouths not their own. The only thing that stopped the kiss at all was the fact that both participants had to breathe, and they pulled away after some minutes, gasping loudly for sufficient air supply.

When the feeling of lightheadedness that accompanies adrenaline and excitement had faded away, they leaned their foreheads together, tips of noses touching. She placed her hand on his cheek and closed her eyes, running her thumb over his lips. She was startled when she felt his teeth on her sensitive flesh, and struggled, for the sake of romanticism, to restrain a sudden giggle. Ultimately, she succeeded in her mission, and allowed his tongue to tease her thumb for a little while, until she could no longer stand it and felt she had to press her lips against his to hold back a bout of hysteria that would surely overcome her otherwise.

But as she kissed him that time, a thought struck her that had not before, and she very quickly opened her eyes and broke the kiss. She threw her body away from his and onto the couch, laying innocently on her back with her eyes closed. He stared at her in confusion for a moment, and, after regaining firm control of his breathing pattern, quietly asked, "What did you do that for?"

But she admonished, "Hush! Someone could have seen us!"

He looked up and then across the room, at both of the large windows. "But the curtains are drawn," he told her, no longer whispering.

She cracked open an icy eye. "On both of the windows?" she inquired, voice still soft. He nodded, and she instantly let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good," she said, and absently threw her hands over her head, allowing them to fall where they may. "I was _so_ worried someone might have spotted us. God only knows what that might have led to." And then she paused, fixing her companion with a very serious gaze. "Willy," she said to him, "we can't let anyone find out about this. If they do, that'll be the end of us, and I don't just mean that as the end of our relationship. They'll send me back home in the blink of an eye and...and I really don't want to sound rude, but Charlie and the rest of his family'll probably not want to see you ever again." His eyes widened, adopted a state of shock. "I know it sounds harsh," she said, "but I can guarantee _that_ is what will happen. So we can't let anybody know about this, all right? This has to be our little secret. Okay?"

He was silent a moment, considering her words. Then he stood and strode to her side, kneeling at the edge of the couch circle. He took one of her dainty hands in his own and lifted it to his lips, gave it a long and meaningful kiss. After kissing her hand, he leaned in and kissed her lips, a deep, warm, loving kiss that he many times tried to duplicate, but never managed to get it quite right. And then he pulled away, and looked deeply into her eyes, and said one simple word that assuaged all of her fears: "'Kay."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I am the owner of Snow, but I cannot say the same for Willy Wonka. Or any other of Mr. Dahl's characters, for that matter.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Fourteen

Willy Wonka and Snow returned to the inventing room, the girl much less tired but much more anxious. It seemed to the chocolatier that Snow was under the illusion that now that their pact had been made, it was much more likely to be discovered. But this did not seem the case to him. He only took note of Charlie's relieved expression as he saw that his cousin was well, and the great bear hug in which he suffocated her at the earliest possible moment. The boy then made every effort to ensure her comfort, which doubled as an assurance that there would not be another incident of the sort. After that, the two males returned to their work and left the girl to her own devices.

She was quiet for a time, merely thinking. She thought about Willy, she thought about Charlie, she thought about her aunt and uncle, she thought about her grandparents, she thought about her terrible shared secret. She thought about how much more terrible it would be if anyone were to ever find out, and the equally terrible consequences. Then she glared at the floor. Why was this all so terrible? What was so bad about romantic moments between a fourteen-year-old girl and a... And then she stopped. She didn't know how old Willy Wonka was, only that he was undoubtedly many, many years her senior. She looked up at him now, leaning over a boiling pot, his perfectly bobbed hair falling over his cheek like a curtain of chocolate. She had to smile. He was positively the most beautiful creature in all of existence, and chances were that he didn't even know it. She sighed and rolled her eyes. Men _never_ knew _anything_.

But perhaps Willy Wonka knew something. For was he not a man unlike any other? She had never met a man, nor a person, quite like him. Oh, he was one of a kind, no doubt, but it seemed something more at times. In Snow's mind, it all seemed to focus around a past life connection, something deeper than this world in and of itself. At that thought, she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, exhaling very slowly, trying to get in touch with her subconscious in one way or another, to search the deep recesses of her mind and memory, to find something that proved her theory...

And it turned out that she searched so deeply and so thoroughly that she quite exhausted herself, and she fell peacefully asleep in her chair on wheels.

* * *

For the second time that day, Snow woke on the second floor of the library. She sat up and looked around, found Willy standing near the chocolate room window, hands placed carefully atop his candy cane. The curtains were pulled back. She looked to the other window, only to find it in much the same state. She then turned back to him, and found him not there. She furrowed her brow in confusion. Moments later, she felt someone pull back her hair, and turned her head to face him. 

He tucked the raven lock behind her ear and stared down into her face, a very thoughtful expression spreading across his. She averted her gaze as his eyes bore into hers, studying the area around them intensely. Then he drew his hand away and reached into his pocket, extracting a small vial of crimson liquid. He held it out to her, eyes never leaving hers. "Drink this," he said.

She gave him a quizzical look and said, "Why? What's it do?"

"Just drink it," he commanded gently, voice soft.

She hesitated a moment, then uncorked the small glass bottle. A little red cloud rose up from within the bottle's depths and burst right in front of her nose. She inhaled, curious, and found herself breathing in the scent of roses. She looked up at him a moment, but he merely nodded. She sucked in another deep breath, then downed the small vial in one swift gulp. As the last drop of the scarlet liquid disappeared into her mouth, she pulled the bottle away and stared oddly at it, lips parted.

"Now," Willy whispered, leaning in closer to her, "think of something really sad." He then proceeded to grab her tenderly by the shoulders and kiss every inch of her face that he could possibly reach. As he pulled away, he said, "Or something really beautiful."

She was tempted to ask him just what the hell he thought this was accomplishing, but she bit back the words. She focused instead on what he had told her to do, to think of something very sad or very beautiful. So she thought of something beautiful: the man in front of her. A small smile spread sleepily across her lips, and her eyelids lowered ever so slightly. Her vision blurred just a bit, and she realized that tears were spilling from her eyes. But her smile stayed. What a glorious day when the sheer beauty of something could make one's eyes water, she thought. However, this phenomenon was not completely alien to her, for there had been other things in her past that had caused her to weep because they looked so good. Not many things, mind you, but enough for her to know that those things didn't come along extremely frequently.

She felt the tears fall. He smiled a small smile down at her and leaned in again, pressing his lips to her cheek where rose red tears sparkled in the non-light of the library's second floor. He very lovingly ran his tongue over the small droplets, tasting the mix of cherries and vanilla and sweet things of the like. He smiled into her cheek. "Perfect," he murmured, and nuzzled his cheek against hers.

"What is this?" she asked slowly, quietly, as if in a dream.

"It's just a little something I've been cooking up," he replied, and planted a long, loving kiss on her lips. "Thanks for testing it. By the way, it worked perfectly."

"I'm glad," she said, smiling a little. "If it hadn't, who knows what would have happened?"

He flashed her a silly grin and knelt down, wrapping his arms around her. He buried his face in her bosom, inhaling the scent of her. Then he exhaled a long breath, and she would never admit how much that expulsion of air tickled. "I'm glad, too," he confessed. "Not only did my invention work, but you remained unharmed." He kissed the crevice between her breasts that the bodice exposed.

She removed his top hat and placed her hands atop his head, burying her fingers in his hair. And as he turned his head to lay his cheek against her chest, she wondered if she could not pause time and capture this image in her memory forever, a perfect portrait of their undying love. Oh, what she would not give to live this way forever, in this perfect world with perfect Mr. Wonka by her side.

She took a breath into her body and asked quietly, "Willy, do you love me?"

He was silent for a long moment, but she knew he was thinking because his breath had stopped. When the pattern of his breathing changed, she knew he was in deep thought. But in the end, all the deep thought was not necessary. He lifted his head, her hands following suit, and then raised his entire body onto the couch, so that their limbs lay tangled together. He moved one of his hands from her back to her face, stroking her cheek. Then, his violet eyes filled with adoration still gazing into her icicle irises, he trailed kisses from her collarbone to her chest, leaving her pleasantly breathless. Once his work was done there, he pressed his lips against hers, smiling into her mouth. And she cried more scarlet tears, because she knew the answer to her question before he was even able to speak it. But he eventually pulled away and looked at her again, kissing her cheeks again and again to swallow the tears. And when her cheeks were dry, he claimed her mouth once more and whispered, "Yes."

* * *

After that day, things seemed to change, not only between Willy and Snow, but between Willy and Snow and everyone. Her female family members, especially, took note of the change. Sara and her mother spent a late night discussing the girl's behavior of late, while Georgina listened intently and sometimes made cryptic remarks. While there seemed to be little sense to what the delusional old woman had to say, her companions could not help but notice some of things that burst forth from her mouth: "Mr. Wonka certainly is a nice young man. I'm glad he and Snow like each other so much." "That girl does seem to like her books." "Well, at least she's finally got some color to her cheeks, even if it shows at the oddest moments." 

This seemed to be the first time in a long time that Georgina had made any sense, and Josephine and Sara certainly weren't going to disregard it, especially when it concerned someone in the family. So Sara resolved that she would talk to Charlie's employer while Josephine would handle Snow. "Remember," the old woman reminded her daughter, "I've got that parasol on my side." And so it was agreed.

Sara accosted her target as he came in that evening with her son and her niece. They were all laughing softly at something Charlie appeared to have said, so she waited until they had all quieted down before saying, "Well, good evening to all of you. Did you have a pleasant afternoon?"

"Quite," Mr. Wonka said, casting a brief glance at Snow.

"Good evening, Mum," Charlie said, smiling brightly. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken, dear," his mother answered. She gave Snow a small smile and then turned her attention to the man before her. "Mr. Wonka, I'd like to speak with you for a moment outside, if it's all right." She put on the biggest smile she could possibly muster.

If it was at all possible, Mr. Wonka grew even more pale than he already was. For a moment, just a moment, so brief that no one noticed, he cast a plainly panicked glance in Snow's direction. But she only inclined her head half a centimeter, so that no one could tell she'd moved it at all. So Mr. Wonka gulped audibly and replied, "Yeah."

"Right." Sara Bucket spun on her heel and addressed her husband. "Gregory, dear, could you set the table? We'll only be a moment."

Her husband looked up and gave a surprisingly curt smile. "Of course, dear," he said, and set aside his newspaper.

"Thank you, darling," she said. Then she grabbed Willy's hand and disappeared with him out the door.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I own Snow, as you all should be aware of at this point.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Fifteen

Mrs. Bucket and Mr. Wonka strode through the chocolate room arm in arm until they were a fair distance from the decrepit shanty that always looked as though it were threatening to fall, it leaned so. They finally paused at the bridge, where Sara sat and invited Willy to do the same. Once they were comfortably (or comfortably _enough_) situated, Charlie's mother spoke. She asked, "Willy, what do you think of our little Snow?"

He took a long time responding. For a while, he simply stared straight ahead, watching the chocolate as it flowed along and swirled into occasional whirlpools. His companion took it as an opportunity to study his face for any signs of reaction, but his features betrayed no emotion. And then, very suddenly, after a long and silent moment, he said, "She's a cool cat."

Sara jumped a little in surprise. She had known he would answer, but she had not known when, and she had not known what he would say. And she had to admit, sometimes Willy said the oddest things, or spoke at the oddest moments, and he never failed to surprise her after a long silence had hung in the air for some time. However, she knew that she would have to say something in return, despite the fact that Mr. Willy Wonka was not one for small talk, nor any kind of conversation, in most cases. But she felt she had to respond, though she did not know why. So she said, "I'm glad you think so." Unfortunately, that seemed to be the only thing she could think to say.

At that point, they both seemed to silently agree that the conversation wasn't going to go anywhere else, so Willy Wonka rose and said, "We should go back inside now." His voice was cold. "The others will be wondering what we're up to." And with that, he turned on his heel and marched back to the house, leaving a slightly confused and frustrated Mrs. Bucket behind him.

* * *

After dinner, all of them spent an evening at home. This sat particularly well with Willy and Snow, for Mr. Wonka had informed Ms. Carmichael with the greatest brevity during dinner that their was some suspicion about the two of them going about, and that it would be best if they did not disappear this evening. Instead, the whole family dispersed erratically into the rolling hills and sloping valleys of the chocolate room for a nice little game of hide-and-seek. Willy Wonka was it. 

Grandma Josephine took this as an opportunity to speak to Snow privately. She accosted the girl as the eccentric candy man began counting to five-hundred eighty-two and insisted that they hide together. The raven-haired teenager agreed and the two women dashed off to find a suitable hiding spot.

They find one in a small grove of trees that looked to be eatable versions of weeping willows. Grandma Josephine slipped in between the limbs so that she stood sheltered in the small circle the trees created, while Snow took refuge on one of the branches, crouching low so her hair wouldn't give her away. But if it wasn't her hair, then it certainly would have been her skirt, hanging far down, like a long black curtain. It was immensely out of place in this world of color, a dead give-away.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Willy's voice echoed throughout the vast grassy expanse, and Snow sighed.

"What's wrong, dear?" Josephine asked her.

"Who's bright idea was it to make Mr. Wonka the seeker?" Snow grumbled. "It's _his_ room, for Christ's sake, _he_ created it. He'll find us all before any of us can say Snozberry five times fast."

Josephine smiled at the girl's words; she'd truly adopted some of the chocolatier's mannerisms. But at that moment, it did not help to comfort the old woman. Instead, she cleared her ancient throat and said, "Speaking of Mr. Wonka, dear, what do you think of him?"

Just like the man in question had done earlier that morning, the girl took a long time to answer. Her icy eyes clouded over with thought, so much so that they appeared to morph into irises of granite with splotches of cyan occasionally shining through. She inclined her head to one side, as if she had suddenly developed an immense interest in the wispy branches of the eatable willow tree. She watched the leaves as they blew about with some strange wind, a wind that sent her midnight tresses flowing gracefully past her ears. But when she finally spoke, her voice came in a detached whisper. "There's no one like him," she answered, and looked away again, staring into the chocolate river.

Josephine just gave a small nod and decided to be silent. It was obvious that what the girl felt for Charlie's employer was more than just friendship; the old woman could tell from the way she spoke. It was a quiet sort of admiration and respect mixed with tender affection and an indescribable feeling of oneness. She knew it because it was what she felt whenever she saw Joe smile that smile of his, that smile so full of loving warmth that it was irresistible. But love and intimacy between herself and Joe was something entirely different than love and intimacy between Snow and Mr. Wonka. There was an incredible difference in their ages, for one thing, and while age seemed to only be a number, it was much more than that when one person in a relationship was still pubescent and their partner had silver hairs sprouting from his head.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling in the trees, and she realized that Snow had hit the ground running. Peering out from her safe spot in the circle of trees, she saw Willy advancing at an alarmingly fast rate toward her hiding spot. She quickly glanced in the other direction just in time to see Snow dive behind a large and vibrantly crimson pumpkin. The old woman breathed a sigh of relief.

But that sigh was her downfall. No sooner had the breath escaped her lips than the willow leaves parted and Willy Wonka's pale face smiled widely at her. "Hi," he said, eyes sparkling with childish joy.

"Hello, Mr. Wonka," she said. "Am I the first one to be found?" He nodded, still smiling. "Oh, blast," she said. He held out a violet-gloved hand and led her out of the small grove. "Well," Josephine admitted, "I never was very good at hide-and-go-seek, anyway."

"Well, that's all right," he assured her. "Now you can help me find the others." And of course his first question was: "Do you happen to know where Snow scampered off to?"

The elderly woman seemed to consider it a moment before pointing him the the exact direction Snow had _not_ gone. He thanked her with a tip of his hat and walked back across the bridge. When she was absolutely certain he was no longer able to see her, she shuffled in her grandmotherly way over to the large pumpkin and peeked over the edge. There Snow sat, hugging her knees to her generous chest, eyes wide and almost worried. "Snow," Josephine whispered, and the girl nearly jumped out of her skin. "Now, just stay calm," her grandmother told her. "I sent Mr. Wonka off the wrong way. I think you're safe."

Snow breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Grandma Josephine," she said.

The old woman nodded. "Now I've got to go find the others. Good luck, dear." And off she went, assured that her plan had worked.

But it hadn't. Willy might have been strange, but stupid he was not. He had known that an old dame as sweet as Grandma Josephine wouldn't have the heart to rat out her own family members, so he'd doubled back and crouched behind a large candy mushroom as the old woman went over to a large candy pumpkin. She bent over it and stayed bent over for a few moments, as if she were talking to someone. He smiled. He had found his Snow girl. And once the old woman moved away, he crossed the bridge again and launched his attack.

Just as Snow was letting out a deep breath, she heard a rustling coming from the other side of the pumpkin. She immediately tensed up and stopped breathing, afraid to blow her cover. But when nothing else seemed to stir for a moment, she peered tentatively over the pumpkin. Willy Wonka's smiling face greeted her, and he grasped her cheeks before she could even blink. And before she could even take a breath, his lips covered her mouth. When they pulled away from one another, each gasping for breath, he said, with a smile on his lips, "Peekaboo."

She returned his grin and said, "Damn it. I was hoping you wouldn't find me." And even though she said the opposite, it was very obvious that she _had_ wanted him to find her.

He rose and held out a hand to her, leading her around the pumpkin. "You know," he said quietly, "we could go to the library right now, while no one's watching." She flashed him a skeptical look. "Everyone would think that I'd given up and wandered away."

While this was not an entirely far-fetched assumption, she felt she had to discredit it by saying, "No, they wouldn't go for that." Now it was his turn to stare at her in confusion. "Oh, come on," she said, "everybody knows you're too much of a child to give up on a game this fun." They grinned at one another. "They'd all be suspicious. No, we've just got to stick it out and find the rest of them." She said no more, choosing to keep Grandma Josephine's disturbing question to herself.

He considered her plan a moment, then leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek. Then he said, "'Kay," and ran off to find the others.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: Snow is mine, Wonka is not. But I do own the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory DVD.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Sixteen

Eventually, everyone was found and returned to the sad old shack that was the Bucket home. Then they all sat down to some hot chocolate, generously provided by Mr. Wonka, and discussed their various strategies and game plans. Grandpa Joe was the last to be found, and therefore the first to reveal his secrets. It seemed that he had enlisted the help of some late-working Oompa-Loompas, who showed him the best places to hide and always pointed the others in the wrong direction whenever one of the old man's family members questioned them. There followed a brief debate over whether this was to be considered cheating or not, and it was finally decided that the Oompa-Loompas were the ones to blame for helping him in the first place. But no one was going to tell the adorable little people that they were being accused of such treachery.

And finally night fell, and Mr. Willy Wonka departed with a tip of his hat. Snow and Charlie were sent to bed, Mr. Bucket became engrossed in the paper once more, the two old grandfathers reminisced about their youth as old men are often prone to do, and Grandma Georgina engaged herself in a lively chat with the friendly voices in her head, prattling on about automobiles lined with mink fur driven by guitars. And while of all this interesting chit-chat went on, Sara and her mother escaped outside to discuss their various meetings with their various targets.

After searching for quite a while for a place to sit, they situated themselves on a large chocolate boulder and got down to business. "So," Sara asked, "what sort of thing did Snow say when you asked her about Mr. Wonka?"

"She said that she'd never met anyone like him," Josephine said, and that was all she had to report.

Her daughter was silent a moment, as if expecting her to say more. But after that moment had ended, she asked, "That's all?" Josephine nodded. "Huh," Sara said, furrowing her brow. "That's a bit odd. Snow seems as though she might be good with words. But she didn't say anything else?"

Josephine shook her head. "No," she said, "and I didn't feel it was right to press the matter. It might have made her uncomfortable."

"You're right." Sara nodded.

"What about Willy?" her mother asked.

"He just said that he thought her an interesting person," Sara told her. "I would have asked him more, but I was a bit uncomfortable myself."

Josephine smiled. "Yes. Well, I suppose he can do that to some people." Though, admittedly, the old woman could not speak from experience. Sara's mother was very much a people person, and was comfortable around just about everyone, which made just about everyone comfortable around her. Willy Wonka was no exception, at least in that regard. But even she had to admit that he was a bit odd. Not that it bothered her...

"Well," her daughter asked, "did you find out anything else? Because I certainly didn't."

Josephine became thoughtful. After a silent moment, she finally said, "There's something going on between the two of them that they don't want the rest of us to know about."

Her mother's words surprised her. "What do you mean?" Sara asked, turning her head to look at the wrinkled woman beside her.

Josephine did the same, looking her daughter in the eyes. "There was something about the way Snow spoke of him, something about her voice, and I just _know_ that her feelings for him extend further than having grown accustomed to Mr. Wonka's presence." She was silent a moment before saying, "I'm afraid she might love him."

Sara took all of this in with a contemplative quiet. She couldn't disagree with her mother, that was certain, for she had noticed some of the same things in Willy. But she could not agree with her mother, either, for Willy Wonka was a hard man to read. Perhaps those things she'd thought she'd noticed had only been her imagination running wild. She sighed. She didn't know what to think. So she said, "I don't know about that yet, Mother. It could just be an innocent crush. You know how these silly teenage things come and go. Perhaps it's just a phase."

Josephine, of course, did not agree, but she did not tell this to her daughter. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her and embraced her warmly, leaning her cheek on the mound of chocolate curls that was Sara Bucket's head. And she said, "I'm sure that it is, darling. That must be it."

* * *

The next day was Saturday, Charlie's day to slack off. He offered to properly show his cousin round the factory that day, but Snow politely declined, saying that she had some reading to catch up on in the library. Then he offered to accompany her there, and this was something she could not easily refuse. So she bit her lip and nodded her head, and the two cousins set off for the library. 

And so it was that Snow found herself in quite a pickle. She couldn't easily shake off Charlie, but she knew she had to go find Willy Wonka and speak to him alone. She mulled over this problem all the way to the library, when at the door Charlie asked her, "Have you got the key?"

And then it hit her. Her eyes shone bright with her idea, and she fished around all over her outfit for quite a while before tossing her hands up in the air. "Damn it," she said, stomping her foot with the black suede boot. "I must have left it back in the chocolate room. You stay here and I'll go get it."

"All right," the boy said, and leaned his back against the wall.

With their accord set in place, Snow dashed down the hall, too quickly for Charlie to even consider the fact that she might lose herself in the many hallways the factory possessed. True, she had yet to memorize the path back to the chocolate room, but that's not where she was headed. The key was tucked safely in the laces of her boots; she knew this was a good place to hide things because the boots laced up very tight. And her skirt had a jagged hem, perfect for hiding things just below her knee. In fact, she didn't know where she was going, but only that she had to find Willy Wonka.

However, her plan of not going back to the chocolate room quickly failed, and she trudged back into the room of wonderful colors by the best route she could remember. It seemed to her that everything was always easier to find if she started from the chocolate room, so she took a moment to breathe before beginning her search once more. This time, she unexpectedly fell down a large but cleverly disguised hole in the ground, and landed oddly, with her ankle twisted in a most uncomfortable manner. But she only winced once and continued on her way, disappearing through a circular door to her left.

The circular door led her into a dark hallway, one of the only corridors she had seen yet that was not illuminated to the fullest extent and then some. The only light in it seemed to come from candles that glowed softly on the wall, and it made the passage appear a tunnel of sorts. Curiosity overtook her sense of urgency and she decided she would explore this tunnel. Besides, the pain in her ankle was slowing her down, anyway.

But as Snow explored the mysterious tunnel, Charlie explored ways to avoid boredom. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he let out a sigh and started back toward the chocolate room, wondering what had become of the Snow girl. He passed a few Oompa-Loompas on his journey, but they were rushing so that they would not stop to answer his questions. Curiosity, as it is prone to do, overtook its second victim that day and Charlie followed the little people. His pilgrimage to the chocolate room was shoved into the back of his mind.

But it wasn't for long. He found that the Oompa-Loompas he was following were headed straight for the chocolate room, where a large number of the little people seemed to have gathered. Charlie furrowed his brow in confusion and tried as gently as he could to push past the swarms of them, as well as to figure out what they were all so interested in. But when he did find out, terror became his master and pushed curiosity rudely out of the picture.

There, in the river, grasping a candy reed for dear life, was Snow. Her entire body was covered in chocolate, including her head. Charlie's eyes widened in shock and fear, and he dashed toward his house. He reached it in two seconds flat and threw the door open, screaming at anyone who happened to be inside. "Mum, Dad, Grandpa Joe, Snow's fallen in the chocolate river! I don't know how, but someone has to help her!" And then he ran away again with only one thought in his mind: to find Willy Wonka.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: I own Snow and all the crazy situations she gets herself in, be them horrible or otherwise.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Seventeen

While the terrible tragedy occurred in the chocolate room, Willy Wonka smiled and hugged a huge cotton candy sheep. The Oompa-Loompas were shearing the sheep today, but this one had so far remained untouched. The others bleated nervously as the electric shearer started up and an Oompa-Loompa set to work on one of the nearest rams. He ran a hand along the sheep's' smooth back just as Mr. Wonka struggled to find the back of the sheep he was petting. When he finally fought his way through all the cotton candy and found that the sheep had a body after all, he stroked it affectionately and inhaled. Oh, how he loved the smell of cotton candy and the softness of these sheep.

But he wasn't able to enjoy them for much longer. The great glass elevator came swooping in out of nowhere, Charlie Bucket swooping right along with it. He barreled out of the elevator and into the flock of cotton candy sheep, screaming at the top of his lungs for Willy Wonka. The chocolatier almost didn't hear the boy, the cotton candy wool muffled everything so, but Charlie's shouts were loud enough to penetrate the pink puffiness. So the candy man looked up and called out to his heir, "Charlie!"

The Bucket boy spotted his friend immediately and rushed over as fast as his legs could carry him. "Mr. Wonka," he panted, once he finally stopped running. "Mr. Wonka, something's gone wrong in the chocolate room. You've got to come and help."

Willy Wonka rose and the sheep ran off. "What?" he asked. "What's happened?"

Charlie stood up straight and sucked in a deep breath, finally calming himself. Then, in a grave and solemn voice, he said, "It's Snow. She's fallen into the chocolate river."

* * *

Despite all their manic rushing about, Willy Wonka and Charlie did not make it to the chocolate room in time to save dear Snow. When they arrived, Grandpa Joe was the first to blurt out that a pipe had come and sucked her straight up, as it had done to Augustus Gloop months ago. Willy Wonka desperately inquired which pipe it had been, and Grandpa Joe had told him, "It was pipe 37A, I believe." That was all anyone needed to hear. 

With their vastly superior knowledge of the factory's inner workings, and a greater urgency between them than between anyone else, Charlie and the chocolatier hopped back into the glass elevator while the rest of the Bucket family allowed the Oompa-Loompas to show them a land route to the fudge room. Poor Mrs. Bucket was inconsolable as they traveled, and her husband could only try his best to comfort her. Grandma Josephine found herself in a similar state. The two old men remained strong for their wives, but George seemed to have a bit of difficulty getting Georgina to understand just how serious the situation was. However, when she finally came around, she was perhaps the most hysterical of them all, and George offered more than once to take her back to the chocolate room and wait it out. But they all knew in the back of their minds that Snow was everyone's responsibility, and that they should do all that they could to ensure her safety.

That is precisely what Willy Wonka was doing. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he couldn't possibly get out of that elevator fast enough. Because of this, it was the first time in Charlie's life he had ever seen anyone run so fast. The candy man was out of the elevator and over to the mixing barrel before his apprentice could so much as blink. Then he flew up the small flight of stairs he'd had installed for his Oompa-Loompas, nearly trampling some of the small workers in his haste, and dipped his cane into the pot. He began jabbing it around fiercely and crying out, "Snow! Snow!"

Finally, his cane hit something solid. Without giving it a second thought, he threw the cane aside and hastily removed his top hat. Then he plunged half of his body into the barrel, and Charlie had to rush over and hold onto his legs so that the panicked man would not immerse himself completely in the deliciously sticky goo. After a moment of struggling, he emerged again, and there was much spluttering and coughing as he stepped frantically down the stairs and laid Snow down on the ground.

Charlie's cousin was covered completely in fudge, and she smelled of strawberries. Her dark body writhed as violent coughs shook her, and she spewed chocolate. As soon as her throat was clear, she let out a despairing wail and collapsed into Willy Wonka's arms. He, too, was covered in fudge, but only from his waist up. It looked quite odd, his face so dark, yet his violet eyes bright beacons of hope and worry all mixed into one. He hugged Snow tightly and rocked her back and forth, and she cried and cried and cried.

"Snow!"

Both of the boys looked up in time to see Mrs. Bucket rush across the room and kneel at Willy's side. She was practically hyperventilating. "Oh, Mr. Wonka," she asked hurriedly, "will she be all right?"

The girl continued to cry. They all sat silent for a moment, waiting patiently for his response, but he had no answer to give them. He looked up after a time, staring separately into all of their eyes, and gave them the only answer he knew: "I don't know."

* * *

Snow's icy eyes flew open, and she found herself staring up at the deep crimson roof of a canopied four-poster bed. She bolted upright and studied her surroundings, only to find herself in a strange room that was decorated exquisitely, but it was not her own. She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, only to find that a length of raven cloth fell over the edge as well. She let out a little shriek of fear and put her feet back in the bed, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth. 

After an anxious moment, the door to the strange room opened and revealed Willy Wonka. She stared at him for a moment, then dashed from the bed, forgetting all about the raven dress with the long train. She hugged him round the middle and buried her face in his chest. "Oh, thank god, you're here," she said, and squeezed him tighter.

But he pushed her away, and stared at her oddly. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"No," she said immediately. "I have no idea where I am."

He seemed stunned. "Why, you're in my chocolate factory, of course," he told her. Then, "I'm worried about you. Your little chocolate dip really scared me, and I'm not sure you've gotten better yet."

And suddenly, all the memories of the afternoon flooded her mind. She remembered her mission, her ankle sprain, her discovery of the strange tunnel, her accidental swim in the chocolate river. She looked up at him. "You mean this room is in your factory?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. Then he smiled a bit. "I had it made especially for you."

She returned his grin in full, but she had yet many questions to ask. The first that came to mind was the clothing she found herself in. "What is this?" she asked him, holding up a length of the train.

He frowned. "Don't you like it?"

She was surprised. She hadn't thought of that. Luckily, she spotted a mirror, and dashed over to it, soaking in her appearance. It was a fine gown, to be sure, and she liked it very much. But what was it doing on her body? "Yeah," she said, turning back to him. "I like it. But where did it come from?"

He smiled. "I thought you might," he said. "I had my Oompa-Loompas make it for you." He walked nonchalantly over to the giant four-poster and sat down on the edge. He gave the spot next to him a tiny pat. "Why don't you come over here and tell me what happened this afternoon."

She still had a million questions to ask, but she figured it was only fair that she answer one of his, since he had answered a number of hers. She sat down next to him and folded her hands in her lap, as a dignified young woman should. Then she gave a loud sigh and began to explain all that had happened. "You see, I was going with Charlie to the library, but I just knew I had to find you and talk to you before I did anything else. So I lied to Charlie and told him I'd forgotten the library key. Then I went back to the chocolate room to find you. As I was looking for you, I accidentally stumbled down this random hole in the floor and found this little tunnel that was obviously meant for your Oompa-Loompas. So I walked down it for a little while, but then there was this hole in the tunnel that was just small enough that I didn't notice it, but just big enough that I fell in. So I fell into a subterranean rivulet of the chocolate river and got carried out into the main branch by the current." She inhaled a deep breath, nearly done with her story. "And you pretty much know what happened after that."

After a silent moment, Willy Wonka nodded and stood up. With the utmost seriousness in his voice, he said, "I think it would be best if you stay here for a while." Then he added, "With me."

In truth, she did not object to the situation, but she felt that she had to ask, "For how long?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Until the Oompa-Loompas think you're ready to face the world again."

She raised an eyebrow. "The Oompa-Loompas are the ones in charge of my health?" she asked.

"Oh, Snow," Willy said, and sat down right next to her again. He placed his right hand in her lap and stroked her fingers reassuringly. "Snow, the Oompa-Loompas are the most trustworthy people in the whole universe. I would never put you in their care if I wasn't positive they'd do a good job." He looked up at her, searching her face for any argument. "'Kay?"

Her eyes met his, and she gave a small smile. "'Kay," she said.

He returned her grin and leaned in, giving her a long kiss on the cheek. "Good," he said, as he pulled away. Then he rose, leaving her on the bed. "Now, I don't want you to worry about anything else for the rest of the day. Just try to get back to sleep and I'll explain everything in the morning."

She almost nodded, but stopped short. "Morning?" she repeated. "What time is it?"

Willy Wonka glanced at a clock that hung on the nearest wall. "Nearly ten," he told her.

Snow was taken aback. "At night?"

"Uh-huh."

She was silent. Then she said, "Wow."

"Don't worry about it," he commanded her sharply, and forced her to lie down. "Just go to sleep and we'll talk tomorrow, 'kay?" He pulled the blankets over her chest.

She turned on her side and snuggled under the covers. "'Kay," she said, and felt him kiss her cheek again before she fell asleep.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: I own Snow and all her crazy crap.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, Snow rose bright and early, though her body screamed its protest a thousand times over. She had woken up during the night, at about two o'clock in the morning, and had failed to fall asleep again after that. So she rose at six o'clock, hoping her need for sleep would wear off as the day wore on.

The instant she got out of bed, half a dozen Oompa-Loompas wearing maid uniforms bustled into the room. She was surprised not only by their sudden and unexpected arrival, but by the fact that they were female. Thinking back on it, she wasn't sure she'd yet met a female Oompa-Loompa in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but she supposed someone had to keep the population going. So she welcomed the tiny women with as cheerful a smile as she could manage after only five hours of sleep.

They all folded their arms over their chests and bowed to her. She attempted to return the gesture, but they did not give her proper time. They attacked as soon as they had risen to their full height, disrobing her efficiently, albeit alarmingly. One of them took the dress and folded it neatly before laying it on the bed, while the other five rushed over to the wardrobe in one corner and pulled out various undergarments. The frightened girl attempted to hide her pubescent nudity, but they didn't give her a chance to do that, either. They attacked once again, pulling a white chemise over her head and slipping a pair of matching bloomers over her legs. They also put a pair of black socks on her feet, then proceeded to squeeze an uncomfortable black corset around her middle. She gasped at the lack of air. Then they tied a red and black striped bustle over the middle of the corset.

This process of flying fabric and flailing arms continued for quite a while longer, until all the Oompa-Loompas suddenly pulled away and positioned Snow in front of the mirror. She gasped again. They had dressed her in a deep plum day dress, reminiscent of the early 1880s. She turned sideways in the mirror and stared at her profile, trailing her hands down her uncomfortably flat stomach. She felt like she could barely breathe as is, but the exhilaration of donning period costume always added to her breathlessness. She almost felt faint.

Instead, she turned to the maid Oompa-Loompas, who were all standing in a tight little semi-circle with expectant looks upon their faces. "Um, thanks," their full-sized companion said. "It's beautiful." A collective giggle of delight rose from the small crowd, and Snow couldn't help but grin. She also couldn't help but ask, "But why did you dress me this way? Not that I don't love it, but I'm just curious."

So the Oompa-Loompas told her, in the way that only Oompa-Loompas can, that Mr. Wonka would arrive by noon and explain everything to her. She questioned them further. "So, what am I supposed to do 'till noon?" They suggested, with a collective grin, that she explore the house. "The _house_?" she repeated, skeptical. "Don't you mean _factory_?" But they slipped out the door before the question left her lips.

So she took their advice and decided to explore the so-called "house."

* * *

Snow leaned heavily against the wall. With this damn corset she could barely breathe, much less walk properly. She held one hand against the wall supporting her and held the other to her stomach, trying to assuage the ache that had sprouted inside of it. She had a stitch in her side and frightened butterflies in her stomach, for the Oompa-Loompas seemed to have been right. This place was a house, after all. 

It seemed that the very Victorian residence was Willy Wonka's home away from home, or, more accurately, home _within_ home. It didn't take long for the lightheaded girl to deduce that this place, whatever it was, was Willy Wonka's private bedroom and otherwise general relaxation area, perhaps that place where he disappeared to when he wasn't inventing and didn't want to be found. It was a beautiful place, to be sure, but nevertheless, Snow was uncomfortable with it, feeling as though she was the sole inhabitant of this pretty prison. The Oompa-Loompas in here seemed just as happy as the Oompa-Loompas outside, so she supposed they couldn't really be counted as "prisoners."

With that thought in mind, she became even more determined to get out and find Willy Wonka, despite the restraints of the too-tight corset. She wanted to unlace it, to breathe properly again, but there was no way in hell she could reach it under all the layers of clothing the Oompa-Loompa maids had piled on top of her. For once, she regretted ever dressing in period costume.

Now she had plenty to be angry, or at least irritated, about. So she set off down the hall with a determination in her stride that she had never felt before, not even on the previous day when she knew that she had to find Mr. Willy Wonka. It was an enraged sort of determination, and perhaps that is what made it stronger.

But in spite of all her angry efforts, she could not, for the life of her, find a way out of the mysterious and beautiful prison. After what felt like a good number of hours, she gave up and wandered off to find an Oompa-Loompa. It just so happened that one of them, another female dressed as a maid, was dusting a portrait as the tired girl went by. Snow stopped and studied the picture, a painting of a man with elegant features and pale skin, and she knew it was none other than her dear Mr. Wonka. Then she turned her attention to the maid and asked the little woman to show her to the drawing room. Some hot chocolate would do her body a world of good.

So the little maid led her to the drawing room and sat her down on a sofa upholstered in fine crimson velvet before dashing out the door again, shuffling away on her little feet. Snow leaned back into the sofa and let out a big breath, feeling her stomach shrink away from the corset as the air left her lungs. She then situated herself fairly comfortably on the sofa, but was jolted into an upright sitting position as the little maid reentered the room, carrying two porcelain teacups of hot chocolate on a tray. She handed one to the girl on the sofa and set the other down on the coffee table in front of her. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and bowed before exiting the room.

Snow sipped at her hot chocolate, staring oddly at the teacup before her. She knew that a second teacup meant a second person, so she naturally assumed that Willy Wonka would be joining her before long. However, "long" has a variety of different meanings, and it felt like hours before Mr. Wonka showed up, unusually cheerful and rosy-cheeked. It didn't suit him.

"Good morning, starshine!" he said enthusiastically.

"It's afternoon," she reminded him, trying to keep the unpleasantness out of her voice. However, this was the first time in her memory that she had ever been angry with Willy Wonka, so she thought that perhaps she shouldn't be so hard on him. She tried to tone down the anger apparent in her words.

But the damage had already been done, at least for the moment. A frown was on his lips for a split second before he was all smiles again. "Stand up," he told her, flapping his hands to encourage her. She only rolled her eyes and set the teacup down. Then she stood and ran her hands along the fine fabric. Then she looked up at him for a reaction. He was wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "Wow," he said, hardly daring to blink. "You look..." He swallowed, nervous. "You look beautiful."

No matter what a girl's morals, no woman can help but grin when a man they fancy let's them know he finds them attractive. Snow Carmichael was no exception. She blushed, the blood coloring her cheeks intensely, and looked away. She entwined her fingers and held her hands behind her back, grinning like a school girl. "You think so?" she asked, though the back of her mind was screaming at her how cliché all of this was.

"Yeah." He approached her and lifted her chin, studying her face. Then he smiled at her and kissed her deeply, and so unexpectedly that she had no time to prepare for it. The sudden nature of the kiss combined with the crushing nature of the corset knocked the wind out of her, and she was unconscious on the floor in seconds.

"You have to stop doing that."

* * *

Snow was woken by the soft voice of Willy Wonka, who sat on the bed next to her and stared down at her. He gave a small smile when he saw her eyes open, and then stroked her cheek with his gloved hand. "Hi," she said quietly. 

"Hi," he replied.

"Did I pass out again?" she asked. He nodded. "Damn it," she muttered. Then she looked up at him and remembered her anger. "I couldn't breathe, you know, because of that damn corset. And you weren't helping too much, either."

"Sorry," he said quietly, but the apologetic look on his face was too adorable to bear, and she forgive him instantly.

"Oh, I can't stay mad at you." His face brightened, but only slightly. Then she became serious. "But I also can't be kept in the dark any longer. I have to know where I am and why I'm dressed as such."

He sighed. "Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said. "After your chocolate river accident, the Oompa-Loompas took a look at you and decided that you've been under too much stress lately. They thought if you stayed her for a while, in a calm, peaceful, controlled environment, it might help relax you."

She considered it a moment before saying, "Okay, sounds reasonable. But where is here?"

"Here is my house," he said. "This is where I go when I need to get away from it all, when I need to be alone."

She nodded slowly. Then she said, "But that still doesn't explain why I'm dressed in period clothing."

He shrugged. "I don't know," he confessed. "The Oompa-Loompas told me it would help you feel more in tune with the house."

"I don't like that answer," she said without wasting a moment, "but I'll accept it." Then she added, "On one condition." He was all ears. "You have to show me a way I can get out of the house, so that I won't be constantly reduced to the endless tedium of indoor activities."

He stared at her oddly for a moment, as though her request was masking a greater desire, the desire to escape, but accepted it in the end. He rose from the bed, grasping his cane as any good gentleman would, and helped her up. "All right," he said. "I'll show you to the garden."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: I own Snow.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Nineteen

Snow sat in the midst of a vast candy garden gripping a black parasol. It was the same parasol that had once belonged to Grandma Josephine, one of the few accessories that had accompanied her to Willy Wonka's home. She assumed that her twenty-first century clothes were stashed somewhere not too far off, but she didn't know where. All she knew was that women in some centuries previous must have fainted often because of the damned corsets they were made to wear. She had developed a new appreciation for the century in which she lived.

The swing she sat upon allowed her a nice view of the garden. It was bright and colorful, like any good Wonka creation should be, with plenty of eatable goodies. Why, her seat at this very moment was a plank of chocolate suspended by licorice ropes, and the green grass beneath her feet was the same grass that had rooted itself in the chocolate room. A slight frown spread across her face as she thought of that room and the people that lived there.

Suddenly she felt pressure on her back, and she began to move. She moved back and forth, a calm rhythm to set her mind at ease. She hooked the crook of her elbows around the licorice ropes and closed the parasol. Then she laced her delicately-gloved fingers through one another and rested her head on her hands. She sighed.

The motion didn't stop, but the silence did. "You're unhappy," he said, and pressed his hands into her back again.

"I'm confused," she replied.

"Why?"

"Because all of this is so sudden. I mean, I wake up after a traumatic event in a strange bed, I get dressed up in strange clothes, and it's all just made me think that I don't know what I should think anymore."

"It sounds like you know exactly what to think," he pointed out.

Her frown deepened. "Don't be a smart ass," she said. "I'm already confused enough as it is."

"Sorry."

She let out an exasperated little snort. He always had to sound so immensely apologetic whenever he had upset her in the smallest little ways that she thought he might die if she rejected him. A small smile crept across her lips at this. It was an intoxicating thought, really, to know that you were someone's world, to know that they would give anything for your happiness. Her smile widened. But then she controlled her devious thoughts. Willy Wonka was good to her, and she should not wish him ill.

"Willy," she asked, "do you know how long I'll be here?"

He gave her a push and shrugged. "I'm really not sure," he told her. "I just have to go by what the Oompa-Loompas tell me, and they haven't given me a number yet."

She nodded. "That's fine," she said, and closed her eyes.

* * *

So Snow adjusted to life in Willy Wonka's house. She was woken by the Oompa-Loompas every morning at eight o'clock, she took tea with her breakfast at half past nine, and usually sat in the drawing room for sometime thereafter with a piece of charcoal between her fingers, sketching out her dreams from the previous night. Then it was lunch with Willy at noon, and some time spent playing in the garden. She particularly treasured this time, for it was time with another human that could relieve her from the tedium contained in the house. After playing in the garden, the Oompa-Loompas made her sit in the drawing room once more and read a few chapters of something from the library. This session was shortly followed by dinner, and then off to bed. 

The library was a welcome change, but her visits were frustratingly few. She only went every week, but it was enough to make her get up on all of those Monday mornings with a smile on her face. On Mondays, the Oompa-Lompa maids put her in a walking dress and placed her grandmother's parasol in her hands. Then they set off for the library in an odd procession of people.

It was on one such day that she got her first glimpse of family in a number of weeks.

Charlie was walking to the library one morning, a morning when Willy Wonka had made himself scarce and the boy vowed to look for the enigmatic candy man after lunch, when he discovered some very interesting activity in the library. He opened the door, which he had expected to be locked, and found himself gazing at a beautifully-dressed girl who looked irrepressibly familiar. His emerald eyes went wide. Could it be...? "Snow?" he asked.

The girl looked up, icy eyes curious. But when she saw who it was that stood there, she could have fainted. "Charlie!" she screamed, and tossed her book aside. She gathered her skirts and ran toward him, wrapping her arms around him. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," she said, her voice softer, and she nuzzled into his shoulder.

The boy was stunned. He suddenly pushed the girl away and got a proper look at her. She was wearing a midnight blue dress that looked undeniably Victorian. Her short hair was curled into little ringlets, and her porcelain hands were covered by soft raven gloves. "Snow," he said again, "is it really you?"

"Yes!" she cried, and hugged him again.

But he pushed her away again, holding her at arm's length. "What's happened to you?" he asked. "Why are you dressed this way?" Then he suddenly noticed the half dozen Oompa-Loompa maids. "And who are they?"

Snow looked back at the maids, all of whom crossed their arms over their chests and bowed. "Oh, those are my maids," she explained. Then she got on to the real story. "Well," she began, "after I fell in the chocolate river, I woke up in this really bizarre but really pretty four-poster bed. Then Mr. Wonka came in and explained to me that the Oompa-Loompa doctors thought it best if I rest up for a while before I go out and explore the factory anymore. So I'm staying in Willy's house until the doctors think it would be best to do otherwise."

He soaked in her explanation, but couldn't help saying, "But that doesn't explain why you're dressed like that."

"Oh, the doctors say that if I fit in with my surroundings better, it'll calm me down faster."

He was silent for a time, then said, "Willy Wonka has a house?"

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, inside the factory. Oh, it's beautiful! You should see it. I'll ask Willy if you can come visit some time." Suddenly, one of the maids came up behind Snow and tugged at her skirt. She looked down at it, then back up at Charlie. "Oh, well, I have to get back home for lunch, but I'll be sure to talk to Willy about your coming to visit. See you!" And without another word, the miniature maids led her out of the library, leaving a bewildered Charlie to consider all that his cousin had just told him.

* * *

Later, at lunch time, after Willy Wonka had kissed Snow on the cheek and the two of them sat down on the couch, the girl brought up the topic of her cousin. "Oh, Willy, I saw Charlie in the library today," she told him, and took a sip from her teacup. 

He immediately froze, teacup paused before his lips. Then, slowly, he set it down on the saucer, and set the saucer down on the table. He watched her for a moment, considering his next words, and said, "Oh, really? What happened?"

She shrugged. "Well, we talked for a while, and I told him at the end that I'd ask if he could come visit," she said. As she finished her sentence, she raised her icy eyes ever so slightly, silently seeking his answer.

He did not respond for some time. In fact, the look on his face was quite a puzzling, one which she could not read, oddly enough. But he finally said, "'Kay. I'll talk to him about it tomorrow." This earned him an unexpected but not unpleasant hug from his young love.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	21. Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: I own Snow and no one else.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Twenty

And so Willy Wonka set about finding a date when Charlie could visit. Admittedly, he was not overly excited about his heir visiting his private home. He felt that Charlie might make Snow yearn for a life outside of her currently caged existence, and this did not help when it was already hard enough to convince the Buckets that no harm was being done to her. For once in his life, he wished Charlie and the rest of his family were not quite so smart as they were. It only complicated things for him.

Another reason he was uneasy about Charlie's upcoming visit was that the boy had been acting differently the last few days. Now, Charlie was not one for brooding and sulking, but he certainly seemed to be angry about something. This made the time that the two of them spent in the inventing room often uncomfortable, and Willy wished more and more that he could make himself scarce without great suspicion on Charlie's part. But that simply wasn't possible.

So he endured the boy's cold shoulders and prolonged silences as best he could for those long hours. But there finally came a time when he could no longer stand it, and he blurted out, "Charlie, what's wrong?"

The boy was surprised at Willy's voice coming so suddenly from the silence, but he was too mad to show it. He merely asked, "What have you done with Snow?"

"Nothing," Willy replied immediately, refusing to look at the boy as he poured the contents of a nearby beaker into a large vat. The bright pink liquid simmered and spat. He backed away quickly.

But Charlie did not move. "She disappeared after she fell in the chocolate river, and I've only seen her once since then. And when I did see her, she was dressed funny and had half a dozen little Oompa-Loompas fluttering around her like ladies-in-waiting. You _must_ have done something with her."

Willy sighed and set aside the eye dropper he had been preparing to use. Then he turned to Charlie and said, "You're right, I have done something with her. But she's fine, with no harm done to her." The boy looked skeptical. "Fine, if you don't believe me, you can see for yourself. How does Saturday sound?"

Charlie was surprised at this, as well, but now he showed it. Of all the things he had expected to come out of Willy Wonka's mouth, an invitation was not one of them. On the other hand, it would be a perfect opportunity to see just what was going on. So he grinned up at the chocolatier and said, "Great."

* * *

So Saturday came, and Charlie found himself standing in the entrance hall of Willy Wonka's vast Victorian house. There were portraits and colorless photographs lining the walls, and ornate pieces of furniture in every room. And everything was spotless, undoubtedly thanks to the Oompa-Loompa maids that seemed to be constantly bustling about. Most of them had miniature feather dusters in their tiny hands. 

But all of that was nothing when compared to Snow, whom they met in the parlor. She looked something out of a dream in her ensemble: A wine red velvet reception dress with a satin overskirt and matching bows on the cuffs. Once Charlie got over the shock of seeing his cousin in such a flattering outfit, he was horrified at how easily walking around in it was for her. There was a bustle in the back of the dress, making her rear end look rather large, yet she strode about the room and sat down as though it were no trouble at all. It bothered him, surely, but he could not place why.

"Charlie, I'm so glad you could come," she said, forsaking all Victorian propriety and embracing the boy. "You've no idea how much I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," he said, and managed to give her a smile, something he hadn't done in a number of days.

"Uh, Snow?" Willy said, waving at her slightly from beside Charlie. "Hi. Hate to break up the reunion, but how are the Oompa-Loompas coming along with lunch?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I'm not sure when they started preparing it."

"'Kay," he said after a moment. "Well, I'll go check on that. You two be good while I'm gone." And he left.

Once they were both absolutely sure he wasn't lingering just on the other side of the door, Charlie sat down opposite his cousin and took her hands in his, a worried expression on his face. "Snow," he said, "what's happened to you?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I mean why are you going along with this? Can't you see what's going on?"

"No, because there's nothing going on."

He sighed. "Snow, I think it's rather easy to see that you've become a pawn in some bizarre game."

She quickly drew her hands away, scowling. "When did you become so cynical?"

"After you fell in the chocolate river. Everyone got scared, and it hasn't been the same since. We were worried then and we're still worried now. I think it would help if all of us could see you, just so we know you're safe."

"You're seeing me now. You know I'm safe."

"But I don't think you are." She remained silent, still scowling. He sighed again. "Snow, do you even know today's date?" She did not answer for a moment, then began to look contemplative. Then uneasy. "It's the fifteenth."

"Of June?" she asked hopefully.

"Of July," he corrected. She gasped. "You've been in here for a long time, Snow. Your summer vacation is almost half over, and you've spent most of it pent up in here."

She didn't say anything, but tears formed in the corner of your eyes. "I thought Willy was your friend."

"He is," Charlie assured her.

"Then why do you doubt his intentions so?"

"Because you're family," he said. "And nothing means more than family." He fell silent for a time. Then, in a quiet whisper, he said, "I'm just worried about you is all. I know Mr. Wonka means well, but sometimes he just doesn't show it in the safest or most sensible ways. I know he would never hurt you, but I don't want you to get caught up in his fantasy. I just want you to be safe, all right?"

After a long moment, she nodded. Then she looked up at him, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "You're not a kid anymore, Charlie," she whispered. "You've grown up since the last time I saw you. I'm sorry."

"Snow, don't blame yourself," he said, and reached out a hand to her.

But she very suddenly stood, stony-faced and expressionless. "No, you're right. I should be careful. I should be mindful of myself, and make sure that I don't get lost in his world. Thank you, Charlie. And now I'm going to go to bed." With that said, she walked out of the room.

Just then, as the boy was gaping at the door through which Snow had just left, Willy burst through another, cheerfully announcing, "Lunch is on the way." Then he noticed that Snow was absent and that Charlie looked stupefied. "What happened to Snow?"

"She went to bed," Charlie answered.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Disclaimer: I own Snow and nobody else.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Twenty-One

She heard the door click open and someone say, "Snow?"

Snow immediately scowled and turned over, so that her back was to the doorway. Then she grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over her head, saying in muffled tones, "Go away. I'm not inclined to talk to you."

"Well, that's too bad," Willy said, and stepped into the room. The door clicked shut behind him. "Because this is my house."

"Yeah, well, this is my room," she pointed out.

"Yes, but I gave it to you," he countered, lowering himself onto the bed. "I also had the clothes on your back specially made, and that pillow on your head is stuffed with cotton candy wool from my very own cotton candy sheep. In a way, everything in this room is mine. You're just borrowing it."

She wasted no time in removing the pillow from her head and smacking him with it, but he remained indifferent. When he made no response, she asked, "Are you gone yet?"

"No," he said simply.

She growled and sat up of a sudden, taking the pillow with her. She smacked him a second time, saying angrily as she did, "Leave, damn you!"

She made to hit him again, but he caught her wrists in his hands, squeezing them so that she dropped the pillow. "No," he said again, and stared hard into her eyes.

For once in her life, she shied away from his gaze, turning her head as her chest heaved and her wrists weakened. Tears sprung into her eyes as she said, in a meek voice so unlike her, "Please get out."

Something dawned on his face, a horrid realization that made the phrase, _ignorance is bliss_, all the more truthful. But he said, for the third time that afternoon, "No. Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"I already told you that I don't want to talk to you," she said. "Isn't that good enough for you?"

"No," he said once more. "I can't have you unhappy." She snorted disbelievingly. He sighed. "What do you want?" he asked.

She looked up at him, eying him critically. "What do you mean?" she said, blatantly suspicious.

"You want something, I know you do," he said. "Just tell me what, and I can get it for you. And you know there's nothing I wouldn't give you."

"Then give me my freedom," she half-begged.

He was speechless for a moment. Then, "You want to leave?"

"No, not leave," Snow assured him. "Just...maybe have a little more free range. Let me out of the house more often, or let more people visit. Let my aunt and uncle visit, or any of my grandparents. Or Charlie. Let him visit again."

Willy sighed. "I'm afraid I can't do that," he told her.

"Why not?" she asked. He said nothing for a time. Then she took his hand in both of hers and asked, "Willy, are we still keeping this under wraps?" He still did not respond. "It's not like no one knows that we interact with each other. They know we know each other. They know we have a relationship. Granted, they don't know how deeply it runs, but they can't freak out when they see us together as friends. The only thing we'd have to worry about is to make sure we don't too lovey-dovey around them. If we were mindful of our actions, it's conceivable that they could visit. Right?"

He remained silent for a long time, so long, in fact, that she thought he might have forgotten her request. But then he surprised the hell out of her by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, kissing her deeply. She was so shocked that her eyes opened wide for a moment before closing in utter bliss. And when he finally pulled away, she sat there with a spellbound, drowsy look on her face. So he smiled at her and said, "I have a surprise for you." With that said, he kissed her briefly on the cheek and stood from the bed, exiting the room in one swift stride.

* * *

At lunch the next day, Willy surprised Snow by entering the room with a small box wrapped in bright, multi-colored paper. He set it down on the coffee table, saying, "I know the wrapping paper isn't very Victorian, but I figured I could make an exception for my favorite girl in the world." She smiled, then looked up at him expectantly, as if waiting for his permission. "Go on, open it," he said, waving his hand. 

She carefully set down her tea cup and saucer before pulling on the large red bow on top of the box. With a single tug, the ribbon unfurled itself and the wrapping paper fell away, revealing a colorful plastic box with holes on the sides and one circular door in the middle. She tried to peer in through the small holes, but she couldn't see a thing in the box's darkness, so she opened the circular door on the box's front.

Of a sudden, a plate extended from the box's black depths, revealing a small squirrel curled up in a ball of cotton candy wool, sleeping soundly. She gasped and reached down to pick it up, watching it as it slept. It was the most precious thing she had ever seen. "Oh, Willy," she said, and stroked the squirrel's head lightly, careful not to disturb it's peaceful slumber.

"I picked him out just for you," he said, and lowered himself onto the couch next to her. He put a hand in the small of her back.

"Oh, he's beautiful," she cooed. "What's his name?"

"Well, I thought I'd leave that up to you."

She considered the infant squirrel for a moment, eyes narrowed critically, before saying, "He looks like a Victor to me." She pressed the very tip of her finger to his nose before setting him down and turning to Willy. She smiled up at him, a warm smile that he had not seen on her face in quite some time. "Thank you, Willy," she said quietly, and wrapped her arms around him of a sudden.

Willy Wonka was mildly surprised for a moment, but soon placed his cheek against the top of her head and grasped her by the waist, squeezing her gently, affectionately. Then he kissed her forehead. But this soon led him to kissing a trail down her face until he came to her lips, and she fell back against the sofa.

They created quite a picture that afternoon, Willy Wonka with his head on Snow's stomach, Snow with her hands twined in Willy Wonka's hair.

* * *

Contradictory to Snow's thoughts later that evening, Victor the squirrel was not the surprise Willy Wonka had been speaking of on the day of their first, if short-lived, argument. Victor, as Willy put it, was merely an added bonus. But added bonus or not, the little rodent worked wonders for Snow's mood. She was cheerier than she had been in a number of days, and less prone to those all too common bouts of teen angst. He would watch her sometimes as she passed peanuts and walnuts and cashews up to Victor, who often sat on her shoulder, and he would marvel at the warmth in her normally icy eyes. It was at those times that he would think about what a wonderful mother she would make. 

And then he would mentally slap himself. It was bad enough that he had somehow persuaded Snow to occasionally give in to his blatantly pedophilic desires, but it was another thing entirely to even imagine impregnating her. She would be glorious, he was sure, in all her nudity, with her perky breasts and flat stomach. But she was pure in the sexual sense, and he could not bear the thought of being the one to cause her such pain. She would scowl at him for the remainder of her visit, no doubt.

And that would lead him to another thought, one free of all romantic deviations and other such forbidden things: She would soon leave. This wonderful visit would come to an end, this splendid summer would be over. And if his calendars were correct, it was already July twenty-something. This left him with just over a month to make a truly lasting impression on her.

Though it was doubtful he hadn't done that already. He considered her now, sitting with a straight back in a deep crimson gown modeled after those worn in 1877, with a squirrel on her shoulder and a tea cup in her right hand. And she had lived like this for some time. He doubted that even without a marvelous send-off, she would never forget him.

At least, that was his desperate hope.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Disclaimer: I own Snow and Victor, but not Willy Wonka or any of his Oompa-Loompas. And the train idea is all mine.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Twenty-Two

Snow's actual surprise came in the form of a ticket that awaited her on her nightstand as she woke one morning. It was shiny and golden and told her that her departure time was at eleven o'clock this morning. "Departure time?" she repeated, squinting at the ticket.

Just then, her usual team of Oompa-Loompas came bustling in. They roused her like they always did and chose a dress from the armoire. Today's outfit was a black number with very little decoration and a simple pattern. They shoved her into all the appropriate underclothing (which she had grown quite used to by now) and fastened the dress as quickly as they could. They seemed to be in a great hurry.

And as swiftly as they had come, they departed, this time with Snow in tow. They rushed her out of her room, their little feet treading a mile a minute, and into Willy Wonka's great front hall. Once there they split up into two groups, with three of them to help Snow and three of them to run off to another room. It was all happening so fast that she wasn't certain of which question to ask first: Why were they wrapping a cloak around her shoulders? or Where were they running off to?

And then Willy Wonka appeared, looking calm and cool and collected in the midst of all the chaos. "Good morning, my dear," he said, smiling brightly at Snow.

"Morning, Willy," she said breathlessly. "What's with all the hustle and bustle?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he asked, though he knew he hadn't. "We're going for a little train ride today." As if on cue, the three Oompa-Loompas returned, carrying a single suitcase between them.

She glanced once at the suitcase, then back up at him. "You have a train?" she asked.

"Yes, and it runs on a very tight schedule," he informed her, picking up the suitcase the Oompa-Loompas had packed. "So if we don't arrive at the station on time, it's going to live without us." With that said, he hooked Snow's arm into his own and they hurried out of the door.

* * *

Chocolate. 

The entire train was made of chocolate. It was wrapped for protection, but Snow could smell the aroma of her favorite sweet treat drifting from it before it ever came into view. The smoke that billowed from the engine saw to that, for it was scented chocolate. The tracks it ran on were sturdy cinnamon sticks, and the windows were made of sugar. Never, in all of her young life, had she ever seen anything more beautiful.

"It's unbelievable," she muttered, astonishment shining in her icy blue eyes.

"Well, what do you expect?" Willy Wonka asked, smiling.

"Certainly nothing conventional from you," she said, grinning right along with him. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "It's beautiful," she whispered in his ear.

"Just like a girl I know," he replied, and tucked her arm into his. "But we'd best make haste. If we're not on soon, it's going to leave without us."

* * *

The train rolled sleepily through a sort of candy countryside that Snow had not previously known to be contained within Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. There were fields of green, with many an odd animal romping through them, and Oompa-Loompas all around. Sometimes a little rivulet of the great chocolate river that flowed from the chocolate room could be seen, and sometimes the train traveled along a very narrow path surrounded on either side by cavernous walls. 

After some hours, when her excitement had waned to resigned boredom, Willy Wonka surprised her by bringing her a very familiar friend. "Victor!" she shouted, upon seeing the small squirrel.

He smiled as the small rodent hopped into her arms. "I made sure the Oompa-Loompas caged him before we set off," he told her. "He's been with the luggage this entire time."

"I wondered if I'd ever see you again!" she said, and it was clear she was not addressing the chocolatier.

Feeling a bit left out, Willy sat down opposite her and cleared his throat. Then, after a moment of listening to his companion coo sickeningly to her pet, he asked, "How are you enjoying the ride?"

"It's been lovely," she told him, smiling as Victor climbed up onto her shoulder. "Though I must admit that the time it's taken to get wherever we're going has worn me out a bit. How much longer do we have until we meet our destination?"

He glanced at his wrist upon which no watch sat and then looked back up at her. "Not much longer," he replied.

She gave an affectionate roll of her eyes and nuzzled her cheek against the top of Victor's head. "I was talking about numbers, Willy," she told him.

"Well, we should be reaching Fudge Mountain in about fifteen minutes."

"Is that our destination?"

"Not our final destination," he told her. And before she could ask him just what their final destination was, he abruptly stood and said, "I'd better get you a coat."

* * *

The two of them were quite a sight in their large and furry dark coats amongst all the white occasionally dotted with specks of brown peeking here and there. Snow noticed that this part of the factory was indeed noticeably colder than the rest, so she was very glad for the coat Willy had given her. 

There was a great cable that ran from the bottom of Fudge Mountain to the very tip top, with one single box hanging from it. It was a subtle shade of gray, such an odd color for any Wonka creation, but Willy's familiar curving _w_ was painted on the door in bright gold, much more like him. He held it open for her and extended his hand to support her, so she smiled at him and accepted it, placing a raven-gloved hand in his palm and stepping into the small box.

As she slipped inside and made herself comfortable, she saw that there was a small wicker basket sitting inconspicuously opposite her. As Willy climbed in beside her and shut the door, she asked, "Willy, what's in that basket?"

His eyes followed her pointed finger and he grinned. He simple said, "Picnic lunch."

Her icy eyes grew wide for a moment before she asked, "You packed us a picnic lunch?"

"Well, the Oompa-Loompas packed it," he explained, "but it was my idea." She said nothing for a moment, and she even looked as though she might cry. A red light flashed in his head, and he panicked for an instant. However, he was able to keep his voice calm as he asked, "What's wrong?"

She looked up at him then, and a tear slipped silently down her cheek. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" she said softly.

"No," he said earnestly. "I hadn't thought you'd cry."

She gave a little laugh, but the slight coughing sound also helped to choke back any more tears. "If you don't want me to cry anymore," she said, dabbing at her eyes, "you'd best tell me what else you have planned."

He smiled at her, an utterly disarming smile that almost seemed out of place on his face. Then he reached over and wiped a tear from her cheek and looked into her eyes. "I think I'll take the happy tears," he told her, and happy tears they were.

* * *

Crap ass chapter ending, I know. Sue me later. It's one in the morning now and my internet starting working again, so I'll go fuck around with that. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Disclaimer: I own Snow and Victor and nobody else.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Twenty-Three

Relations between the Buckets and Mr. Wonka had become uncomfortable of late, but this was hardly a surprise; the Buckets had not seen their little relative in weeks, and they were becoming increasingly doubtful of Willy's excuses. He gave them so-called "medical reports" that he had heard through the grapevine (as it were) from the Oompa-Loompas, and each report was more unbelievable and outrageous than the last. For the first time since knowing him, the Buckets were mistrustful of this eccentric, yet generous man who made reinventing their lives look so simple.

Needless to say, they were not pleased.

Mrs. Bucket rarely invited him to dinner, and Willy himself no longer felt very welcome in the cozy little house he had come to love. The glances from the grandparents were not disapproving nor suspicious, but a strange mix of both that made him exceedingly uncomfortable. His social anxiety was slowly returning, and the only person he could really converse with was Snow; but even _their_ relationship was rocky. For the first time since he had known the Buckets, that wonderful family who had made reinventing his life look so simple, he felt utterly alone.

And for the first time in a long time, Buckets or no, he was confused. He really had no idea what he was doing; he was making it all up as he went along. Every elaborate scheme that upon first glance could have taken hours, really only boiled down to a few minutes of a sleepless night. There was something about Snow, her delightfully-dark-yet-carefree manner, that made him throw all of his careful planning right out the window. There was something about her that inspired in him total abandonment. It was quite nice, all things considered.

But perhaps he was the only one who thought it quite nice. When it came right down to it, he had no idea how Snow felt; in fact, he had a drastically clearer picture of the Buckets' opinions. He knew they were unhappy with him, but he didn't know about Snow. While outwardly she appeared just fine, more than content, he knew that one's outward appearance rarely reflected what lurked beneath the surface. He was his own best example; he knew that his face was practically unreadable, that only the best could notice small changes in his countenance and thereby discern his true emotions.

While Charlie was quickly learning how to tell what he was feeling, and wasn't bad at it even now, Snow had needed no practice. She had been able to read him like a book right away, to pick up on his emotions the first time she'd seen him. And perhaps that is why he felt so strongly about her; he felt that he had found someone who could finally understand him. Or who at least could read him well and act accordingly.

"Snow isn't my real name, you know."

This was the first time she had spoken since their ascent to the top of Fudge Mountain had begun. He snapped to attention immediately, staring at her curiously. "What?" he asked, flexing his fingers atop his cane.

She didn't look at him; she was still staring out the window, with Victor on her shoulder. "My real name isn't Snow," she said again. "It's just what they call me because I ask them to. My real name is Bambi."

Willy blinked. _Bambi_ was about as far away as from _Snow_ as one could get. But _Snow_ was definitely a better name; it bespoke of a cool, aloof, even icy mannerism that Snow certainly possessed. _Bambi_ was just too cutesy, not like her at all. But still he said, "_Bambi_?"

"Yeah," she said, giving some huffing sort of laugh. "Ridiculous, isn't it? I always thought it was a cute name, but I never liked it on me. I always thought of it as a pair of shoes that were far too large, so that I would keep tripping over my own feet. It pissed me off a lot, actually."

He nodded, but said nothing. There was a short silence, in which Victor scratched the window at a passing snowflake. Then Willy said, "_Bambi_?"

She turned to look at him and rolled her eyes, saying, "Shut up."

* * *

But soon enough, their journey was over, and they reached the top of Fudge Mountain. Willy Wonka took the picnic basket in one hand and his cane in the other, leaving his arms open for Snow. Victor scurried on top of Snow's shoulder and slowly but surely made his way to Willy's top hat as the motley trio scouted out the ideal picnic location. 

Finally they found it: a small cave protected from the powdered sugar snowflakes by an overhanging ledge. Willy unhooked his arm from Snow's and began to set up the picnic as she surveyed their surroundings. Victor jumped into her hands and from there onto the ground, where he proceeded to sniff and scratch at everything. Being a Wonka squirrel, he had practically grown up in the nut sorting room, so he considered it a great honor and privilege to be allowed to explore other areas of the gigantic factory.

So while Victor had his fun, Snow and Willy sat down to hot chocolate and sandwiches. She watched the squirrel scamper across the floor while he watched her, and there was almost utter silence in the secluded cave, save for the tiny sound of little claws on the floor. There were the small noises of chewing and swallowing and sipping and biting, but no more. And finally she spoke.

After a long time of silence, she set aside her tea cup of hot chocolate and folded her hands politely in her lap, a very Victorian mannerism that she had developed for seemingly no reason. Then she said, "Willy, I need to know what you're going to do with me. I have no concept of time anymore, but I'm almost one hundred percent positive that it's at least early August. I've spent a great deal of my summer tucked away inside your little fantasy land. And now I want some answers."

And in that instant, his world shattered. In that instant, he realized that she had become an adult. She was a little girl no longer. He had seen it coming from miles away, ever since he had first laid eyes on her...ever since he had first loved her. Yet he had ignored it, blocked it out, beaten it away with a stick. And still it came back to haunt him.

Even Victor stopped, aware that something was out of place. He looked from his mistress to his master and back again, and saw the man's eyes shining sadly. He scurried to Snow's leg and climbed up it into her lap. Then he peeked his little head over the edge of the table and rested it there, bringing his small paws up so that he could watch Wonka without losing his balance.

"I'm going to set you free," he said to her.

Clearly, this was not the response she had been expecting, for she looked at him with wide eyes. "What?" she asked.

"I never should have done this to you," he said, and a tear slipped down his cheek. "I shouldn't have locked you up like some caged animal. You're too strong-willed for that. I shouldn't have made you dress up in those clothes, I shouldn't have made you act like a simpering Victorian housewife. That's not who you are. I should have known better than to try to...make you stay."

She leaned across the table and put her hand on his. "Is that what it's all about?" she asked softly. He looked up at her, only to find that he was not the only one who was weeping. "You want me to stay?"

He nodded. "I thought that if I built a life for you here, you wouldn't have to go back to the one you have. I thought you could stay with me and be...happy."

"Willy, I was happy," she told him, "and I'm still happy. But I have a family that I love and miss very much. I love you, too, but...they're my family. Family always comes first."

"We could make a family," he said, sounding almost desperate.

But she shook her head, a tear falling down onto the checkered picnic blanket. "No," she whispered. "No, we couldn't, Willy. I love you, but...I can't."

"I know," he said. "I know."

"I'm sorry." Her lower lip quivered. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." And then they said nothing, merely stared at one another for a moment. They embraced one another, held each other while they cried. And while she stroked his hair and rested her cheek on the top of his head, while he wept into her bodice, she wondered who was truly the adult and truly the child.

* * *

God, I haven't done anything about this story in forever! But now I think it might finally be drawing to a close. I'll probably do one or two more chapters and an epilogue...and then I think it'll be time to lay this one to rest. And on a different note, I've moved to a new computer now, so I should be able to update on a more regular basis. Oh, and before you get all weird on me, Bambi is technically a female name. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anybody that I didn't think up. Everyone else, however, is mine.

Snow Falls  
Chapter Twenty-Four

So Snow was returned to the Bucket family, where she was greeted with kind smiles and open arms. Those same open arms warmly welcomed Willy Wonka, but he politely declined their dinner invitation in lieu of taking some quiet time for himself. He was, in Snow's opinion, understandably melancholy, but she couldn't let anyone else know that.

Not even Grandpa George, who went on a walk with her around the chocolate room one day just to catch up on all that had happened. "So how are you feeling, Snow?" he asked her.

"Pretty good, I guess," she said, and absently kicked at a stray piece of candy.

"That's a lie," he said suddenly.

She stared up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Now why do you say that?" she asked. She sat down on a chocolate boulder.

Grandpa George sat down beside her. "Oh, come off it, Snow," he said. "We can all see that you're different. You aren't the same girl you were when you arrived."

"A lot of things have changed," she said softly.

"What sort of things?" he asked.

"Mental things, mostly."

It occurred to him at that moment what had changed about her. When Snow had arrived, she'd been like any other brash, rebellious teenager. But now she was a woman, an adult. Something had happened over the course of her great absence to cause her to grow up. Now all he had to do was figure out what. So he said, "You aren't a little girl anymore, are you?"

She cast him a sideways glance, not daring to look him in the eye. "The last time I was a little girl is when I was four."

"But you know what I mean."

She was silent for a long while, and didn't answer him. Then she said, "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. And no, I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Why?" he asked. "What happened? What made you grow up?"

"Not what," she said, in a voice so soft it was hardly more than a whisper. "Who."

Grandpa George nodded. "What did he do?" he asked after a moment.

She shook her head. "It wasn't him," she said. "It was me. I think I...outgrew him." She sighed. The old man opened his mouth to speak, but she suddenly continued. "And I just feel...guilty," she said, "because I think he really cares about me. A lot," she added. "But he cares about you guys, too." She gave an odd half smile. "Every damn day that man worries about what you think of him, and if you still like him and if you'll still want to live with him."

"He shouldn't," Grandpa George said. "We love it here. We love...him." They were both silent. Then he said, "And so do you."

Snow stared up at her grandfather, who smiled at her knowingly. Her lip quivered as she tried to fight the tears, but they were unstoppable. "Yes," she said softly, and hugged him tightly for support.

He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her back and forth to soothe her, simultaneously stroking her raven hair. She soaked his shirt with her tears, but he didn't mind; he understood that she needed him right now, and that his clothes would have to wait. But after a time, he was able to stop her crying and push her away slightly so that he could get a good look at her. Her make up was running and she generally looked a mess, but he doubted that it mattered much to her.

"You know that's not allowed, don't you?" he asked her. "It's against the law."

"It shouldn't be," she said, "not if you love someone."

"In a perfect world, it wouldn't be," he said. "But ours is not a perfect world."

"Willy Wonka's is," she pointed out.

"Yes, but you must remember that you live in a world outside of Willy Wonka's," he reminded her. "The rest of us might not, but you've got a life outside of the factory. A life that you'll have to go back to soon enough."

"But I don't want to," she said. "I have nothing to look forward to out there. But in here...well, just look at it all." She gave a grand sweep of her arm. "It's a utopia. Why would anyone ever want to leave?"

"Because it's not just anyone who has that special connection with Willy Wonka," said Grandpa George. "We who know him and are in his favor should count ourselves lucky. He is a most extraordinary man."

She stared up at him, brow furrowed. "Hey, from what Aunt Sara's told me, I heard you were bad mouthing him only a few months ago."

"Yes, but a lot has happened since then, and I see now that Willy really does have your best interests at heart," said Grandpa George. "Besides, I'm allowed to change my opinion, aren't I?"

"I suppose," she said. There was no sound but silence for a time, until finally she said, "You knew all along, didn't you?"

He hugged her tighter and told her, "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered pleadingly. "I couldn't do that to Willy."

"You've no need to worry," said Grandpa George, kissing the top of her head. "You're secret's safe with me."

"Thank you," she said.

* * *

The remainder of the summer passed quickly, with Snow spending her days with Charlie and Willy Wonka in the inventing room. She turned out to be quite creative, coming up with a few new candy ideas of her own, but mostly she made the preliminary sketches of new candies that were to then be given to the Oompa-Loompas. She was so incredibly skilled in the visual arts that it nearly killed her candy man. 

In fact, it nearly killed him to be in the same room with her now. Things just hadn't been the same between them since he'd released her, but he could tell that she was happier. Her humor may have been dark and her comments still sarcastic, but there was a light in her icy eyes that just hadn't been there when she was locked up in his house. She smiled and laughed more, and generally looked healthier as well.

But sometimes he would still catch her looking at him, as they sat across from each other at the Buckets' dinner table. Sometimes she would look away immediately, so as not to arouse suspicion, but sometimes they would carry on wordless conversations with their eyes. On the whole, however, they did not speak to one another very much.

That is, until the day of her departure.

* * *

I'm undecided about whether the next chapter will be an actual chapter or the epilogue, but whatever happens, the end is near for Willy and Snow. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	26. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own like, no one. Snow is the only one of whom I have any legal ownership.

Snow Falls  
Epilogue

She found him in the library, where she had known she would. He stood near the large window, staring down into the chocolate room, as if sorrowfully watching the ghosts of memories run past him. He held the top of his cane with both hands, and his back was straight. His head was turned away from her, so that all she could see was the way his hair fell across his cheek.

She cleared her throat, alerting him to her presence, though she was sure he was already aware. He turned away from the window and looked at her, but said nothing. So she was the first to speak. "Hello, Willy," she said softly.

"Hello, Snow," he replied, voice an equal whisper. Then he went over to sit in the couch circle.

She waited a moment before sitting down beside him. Silence reigned for a number of minutes until she decided to once again break the ice. "I don't want to go home," she said quietly.

"You have to," he said. "You know that."

"I know," she said. "But I don't want to go back to my parents. They're going mad, and my life is falling apart at home. I want to stay here with the Buckets. And you."

"You can't," he said, silently crying. "I can't make them change their minds, and even if I could, I wouldn't. I know that allowing you to stay would be the wrong choice in the end." He brought his hand up to her face and cupped her cheek, turning her head to him. She, too, was crying. "You're going to grow up to do something spectacular, Snow, I just know it. And I would only be standing in your way."

"No, no you wouldn't," she assured him, voice almost pleading.

"You may think that now," he told her, "but five years from now...you'll see." He released his cane and placed his other hand on her cheek, pulling her in for a kiss. As their lips met passionately, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hung from him limply.

And then, just as suddenly as the kiss had begun, he broke it off, releasing her face and practically throwing her away from him. She relinquished her grasp as well, and understood that it had finally come to an end. She stood up straight and brushed herself off, clearing her throat in the process. Then she said, "I love you, Willy Wonka."

"I love you, too," he said. And then he added, with a small smile, "Bambi."

She, too, gave him a smile. But that was all, because in the next moment, she ran from the library and out of the factory into her waiting limo.

And she never returned again.

* * *

Fin. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


End file.
